


Tinted Moonlight

by LochAndLoad



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical Violence, Description of mild gore, Drinking, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani, M/M, Medium Burn, Nightmares, Noodle Dragons, Okami Hanzo Shimada, Other, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Pre-Recall, Sexual Content, Sibling Bonding, Small Animal Death, Strangers/enemies to Friends to Lovers, Unreliable Narrator, Werewolf AU, Werewolf Hanzo Shimada, Werewolf Jesse McCree, but they're wolves, messing with the canon timeline, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 118,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LochAndLoad/pseuds/LochAndLoad
Summary: On the night of the full moon, a chance meeting brings lone wolves Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada together. Through trials and revelations, they form a bond as the only ones who can ever hope to understand one another in a world that hunts them down.Desperate to quell their loneliness and regain some humanity, they begin a journey to grow anew, and possibly heal their deepest wounds.





	1. Wait 'Till The Midnight Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again~
> 
> I had a mighty need to read a McHanzo werewolf AU were both of our beloved dorks were wolves and since no one was delivering, I came up with this AU. 
> 
> Many thanks to @autocon21 for staying up with me for 7 hours as I wrote this out. She's the best!

The night air hung heavy with silence, not even a flap of wings or stamp of hooves interrupted the streaks of overly bright moonlight peeking through the thick branches hanging overhead. Not a cloud in the sky and the breeze was soft against the plant life on the dry ground; picturesque hiker’s paradise for any werewolf hoping for a quiet night.

Jesse wondered how he got so lucky this time around.

His early full moons were spent locked away in a concrete bunker, then he upgraded to dog pounds, bear traps, shadowed alleyways, and the occasional nutcase’s basement in recent years. But that's what happens when there's no  _ Jefe _ to protect you anymore.

The dirt fell between his bare toes as they curled into the ground, sending shivers up his spine and bristling the fur under his skin waiting to burst out. He could feel that burning energy aching to be released, almost too much to resist with the moon bearing down on him. He held onto the edges of his will, checking his scarce belongings tucked between the tree roots. His hat, shirt and scarce belongings were all wrapped securely in his serape, and now all that was left were his pants--

A hare shot through the bush and disappeared just as Jesse shot his head up to look around.

Nothing. No scents, no sounds… 

And yet he felt the eyes boring into his back.

Jesse stood slowly, eyes scanning every nook and cranny in their path. Stillness and silence, betraying the shock the wolf in him was dying to rip into hunger. He buttoned up his jeans and rolled up the ends with practiced one-arm precision before allowing the fur and claws to settle in. A slow, controlled shift gave him the heightened senses he needed without the agonising pain of a new body. If a hunter was somehow on his trail (he’d been so damn careful tonight), he couldn’t afford any distractions from tracking the bastard set out to make his life a living hell.

He stepped away from the tree just as the wind picked up and changed course. He inhaled deeply, noting every leaf, flower and dying mouse for miles around. There was a warm scent dancing lightly on the air, just barely there. The hunter was smart enough to stay downwind; Jesse was in trouble.

He moved out into the open ground, focusing on the minute details of the dust specs between branches and the buzzing of crickets awakening from the bustle. He pushed back the feeling of melting bones and growing tails to the back of his mind, grinding his fangs until they poked at his gums. He just kept moving forward to where the space between trunks was too spacious to hide in. He hadn’t been shot yet; there was a chance he could chase them off.

An arrow lodged itself into the bark just moments away from Jesse’s face. He yelped and fell back, letting out a loud whine as his legs cracked and bent into their new shape, tearing apart his pants. He scrambled back onto unsteady feet, bent over his stomach as the worst of the shift made its course.

(Shame about the jeans; he really liked them… )

Footsteps pounded in his ears and the panic jolted him back upright, forcing him away into the bush. Everything in his head wanted him to turn back, face the enemy and make them regret targeting a wolf. Spill their blood; send a message.

Jesse leapt over a fallen branch, wind almost knocked out of his heaving lungs upon landing. Those eyes were on his back again and his fur bristled, feeling the next arrow before seeing it pierce the ground. He swerved to the left and ducked to avoid the low hanging twigs overhead, which was his worst mistake he realised when he suddenly met the ground with a heavy weight digging into his back.

The wolf broke loose with a guttural snarl, all inhibitions thrown out the window and instinct taking control. Claws snapped out as he flipped over, throwing the weight aside and settling onto all threes, all pain and worries far past him.

The weight - a broad shouldered man armed with a bow and quiver - was already back on his feet and aiming a new arrow at Jesse’s forehead. The night’s shadows obscured his face, but Jesse’s golden eyes were fixed on the glassy eyes of the white wolf head atop the man’s head. It stared back, challenging.

He growled again, leaning forward. The arrow was pulled back with more strength.

“What,” the hunter rumbled, accented voice deep and promising to deliver every threat, “are you doing in  **my** territory?”

“Waiting the night out so leave already” is what Jesse would have answered had his muzzle allowed for human speech, so instead he bared his fangs and raised his hackles. A man who would wear his corpse was not a man he wanted to stay around.

_ Rip. _

_ Feed. _

_ Drain. _

Jesse shuddered and shook his head, chasing the thoughts away. He did not murder; he wasn’t a mindless killer. He was more than just the wolf, no matter how the situation looked. He rose to the challenge again and refused to back down.

The man studied him, lowering his bow enough for Jesse to catch a glance of the brown eyes hiding under the muzzle. His gaze was piercing and judging, enough to startle any man. Then again, Jesse was more than that.

“I see there is only one way to get through to you.”

The bow and quiver were abandoned to the wayside and Jesse shifted on his paws, dread creeping from the corners of his feral mind. The man held out his bare left arm, revealing an intricate yellow tattoo of abstract shapes crawling up and disappearing under the sleeve. Jesse narrowed his eyes, watching carefully, when the tattoo began to glow…?

An explosion of energy pushed Jesse back onto the ground and he quickly pushed himself back up, shaking the flashes out of his vision, only to see a snapping jaw come down on him. 

Jesse bit down a yelp and jumped to the side but let out a cry when the jaw caught his tail, throwing him against a tree. He rushed back onto his paws, despite the stinging ache in his shoulders, and caught the white wolf before he could rip into his neck. 

Claws sunk through his fur as he held back the transformed hunter, allowing him his first good look at the beast not unlike him. A smaller frame but no weaker, if his shaking leg was any indication, with bright yellow markings around his sharp amber eyes and sharp teeth snapping in his face. There wasn’t a trace of the human left, which left him momentarily confused; how did he shift so quickly? So painlessly?

Jesse wasn’t given time to dwell on his endless questions as he lifted his more powerful hind legs and kicked his attacker off. The hunter rolled away but was back up and ready to hold his ground as Jesse threw his weight into him. His bigger frame worked well, pushing back with little resistance, and they both bit down on the other’s scruff. 

Locked in place and either willing to give up, they glared out of the corner of their eyes and tightened their grip enough to draw blood. The hunter shifted his front paws, trying to keep hold despite the height difference, which delighted Jesse to no end. His calculating wolf mind was already planning a dozen different ways to end the fight right here and now, so he loosened his grip on the white scruff.

The hunter took advantage and knocked Jesse down again, clawing his underbelly deep enough to draw more blood. The crisp smell of rusty copper caught onto Jesse’s base survival instinct and brought the wild wolf to full control. 

Everything became a blur watching from behind a veil of howls, snarls and bloodied fur. The pain of bites and claws were numbed by the ever present animal need to win and  _ survive _ . The hunter put up a fight long enough to make his lungs burn with effort but he wasn’t going to stop until the hunter was submitting under his grip. 

They were on the chase now, no one in the lead, just moving between the trees to catch the other off-guard and land a hit. The hunter caught him on his weak side more than once, which Jesse retaliated by biting down on his thin hind legs hard enough to crack them. This only served to pit him in a fighting frenzy, all caution thrown to the wind.

Neither wolf was more human than the other by the time they reached the river bank, just a flurry of fur, blood and teeth eager to drag the enemy to the dirt once and for all. Jesse kept to the edge of the water, paying the shallow water no mind; he only had eyes for the hunter pacing mere yards away from him. Calculating, waiting. Just like him.

The hunter kept his gaze on Jesse, quiet but dangerous all the same. He knew not to underestimate his opponent; it was clear that he had no wolf to fight over his mind with. He just  _ acted  _ like one. Lucky bastard.

Jesse growled as the hunter stopped in his tracks, head lowered to look up at him, almost… submissive? Jesse blinked and silenced himself, watching the smaller wolf trod up to him carefully. His tail wagged for a moment before common sense kicked back in, stepping back into the lapping water and narrowing his eyes on the approaching hunter.

He came into Jesse’s space, ears flattened and face too soft for the slashes and bite marks scarring his skin. Jesse kept his breathing even, still watching; this was another trick, a distraction to lower his guard and lose the fight. The hunter moved in closer, brushing against him with that damned look, and that’s when Jesse caught it.

The warm scent that had skirted on the air around him earlier was now hitting him with full force, filling all his senses in an intoxicating way that Jesse couldn’t help but chase it. He pressed his nose against the white fur, whining loud enough for the entire forest to hear. The hunter tensed under him but didn’t move as his nose traveled, taking in that unique scent that wanted to take over his mind. They pressed together and Jesse whined his apology.

The hunter moved away and held up a paw to Jesse’s chest, lifting himself up to look him right in the eye.

And push him backwards into the river. 

Rushing water fell over his head in a tangle of loose limbs and he felt that weight again on his chest, crushing him against the river bed and further. Jesse broke through the water to gasp and struggle against the white wolf towering over him, fangs bared and threats flowing back in to crowd his space again.

His scent was everywhere and Jesse was hooked, struggling against the unrelenting grip the hunter had on him. A paw pressed down on his neck, forcing water over him again. Jesse thrashed his legs against him and opened his mouth to growl, then choked as water poured in to his lungs. 

The more he fought, the more the hunter and the water drowned him. Black spots filled his vision and it began to flash to black. His senses dulled and his muscles relaxed, putting up no fight even when the weight was lifted. Water was everywhere and pulling him away from the moonlight, the world around him.

There was a chill, a muffled voice. 

He felt weightless, out of the water. 

The voice remained, igniting the fire in his chest that burned him with every cough.

The voice, louder. Panic.

Fingers ran through his fur. 

Moonlight kept hold of him.

The wolf fell into black, and so did he.

 

**0XX0**

 

Jesse opened his eyes and winced at the orange glow highlighting every wood panel above him. He groaned and pressed his hand to his eyes, shifting his entire body. Everything felt like pins and needles, too much static to connect him to the reality of living. All he could feel was that he was lying down on a couch and was warmer than he had been in months.

He cursed under his breath and dropped his hand, blinking against his new, unknown surroundings. He was inside… somewhere, and he was buried under enough blankets to cut off circulation. He shrugged them off and slowly moved to stand, holding onto the couch with his only arm for balance. 

Sorting through fuzzy memories and trying to recall how he had ended up here, Jesse came up with nothing. He had shifted and the wolf had taken over, leaving him with nothing to control or remember. Now he was in a cabin room with his shirt back on and wearing sweats that were definitely not his.

Now the real question was: who was he with?

There was light leaking under a door on the far side of the room, so Jesse shuffled over to it, taking in the new (yet familiar?) scents all around him. He opened the door and stepped in, almost falling over himself when he saw the figure turning away from the open fire stove.

The hunter was without his gear, wolf skin and threats. Even so, Jesse went on the defensive and growled, despite himself. He remembered  _ now _ , how this shifting bastard had almost drowned him and left him good as dead. He opened his mouth--

“You’re awake.” The soft tone tripped Jesse up and he stood straight as a rod, clamping his mouth shut until annoying reason came back to him.

“No shit, Sherlock.” His throat felt dry and sore, and he held back the urge to cough. A cup of steaming tea was then held in front of him by a very different man than he had encountered in the forest. He was dressed no different from the average man Jesse would see in motels - a grey undershirt, sweats almost identical to his own, scruffy white hair tied up in a loose bun (though he didn’t look  _ that  _ old), and a gentle look that would have him ducking away to hide. Not today.

“It’s lemon and ginger, it will help.” Jesse took the cup and sniffed it. It was more ginger than lemon, but that wasn’t what his brain focused on.

It was  **_his_ ** scent again, and now it was everywhere and impossible to ignore. The tension flowed out from his shoulders, even if the hunter’s presence was putting his neck hairs on edge. He couldn’t help but relax under its influence. 

Jesse looked away and took a sip, sighing out of his nose when the tea soothed over his throat. The hunter stepped back and attended the stove again, filling the room with the aroma of cheaply made stew that made Jesse’s stomach rumble. Shit, he hadn’t eaten a proper meal since the train ride… 

“How do you feel?” The hunter asked, looking as uneasy as Jesse felt. He scratched at his tattoo, which Jesse could now see covered his whole arm and even spilled onto his chest. He still couldn’t make out its exact shape, but it was vaguely canine. 

“Like I almost died in the kiddie pools of rivers.” He bit out and instantly regretted when he saw the hunter flinch in the corner of his eye. He sipped at his tea again. “How long was I out?”

“The better part of two days.” The hunter poured out a bowlful of stew, added a spoon and set it aside in Jesse’s direction, not looking him in the eye. “I… I must apologise for what I did. I misinterpreted your actions and you almost paid dearly for my mistakes.”

Jesse shifted and fiddled with the cup, watching the bowl hungrily. He held back any snarky retort he wanted to throw out; he could chew him out after hearing what he had to say.

The hunter swallowed and glanced over Jesse, rubbing his hands together. He was skittish, so unlike the full moon night. A man through and through.

“This is the longest conversation I’ve had with another person in almost ten years.” He admitted quietly.

“Oh.” Jesse breathed. The silence around them attested to the loneliness that defined the man before him. All alone in what he called ‘his territory’, it became clearer why he would only assume a drifter like Jesse to be a danger to his livelihood. And why he was so awkward now. 

“I had thought you were sent to kill me, or were perhaps a scout from a pack looking to move in,” the hunter explained in one breath, like Jesse would move in if he paused. “It never occurred to me that a wolf would be here for no other reason.”

“Jus’ me, myself an’ I.” Jesse put the empty cup on a countertop and went for the bowl, snatching it up before the hunter could move closer. It smelled of rabbit, pheasant and a stuffed belly. 

“I am sorry for what I did. I’m glad you’re recovering.” Jesse chewed slowly and took the moment to look at the hunter properly, search for any lies or deceit. He was fully facing him now, unobscured by the pelt and shadows. He was Japanese, giving a source to his accent, with dark circles under his soft brown eyes. The same markings from his wolf form adorned his face, linking the two in a way that was on the brink of uncomfortable.

But most prevalent of all was his sincerness and openness. His was a face that could hide no emotion and it screamed apology at him, picking apart at his stubborn walls. Jesse rolled his shoulders and kept eating, wishing he had both hands to hide his awkward blush.

(He’s really cute, the unnecessary voice in the back of his head reminded him.

Fuck off, he replied.)

“Well, I won’t hold it against ya too much. …Thanks for, uh, bringin’ me here.” He stared into the bowl, which he noted was emptying at an alarming rate.

“Your welcome.” 

The silence returned in force and Jesse couldn’t stand it. He looked around the kitchen area, glimpsing outside the small window (it was dark morning and the trees were too close for civilisation to be anywhere nearby) and taking stock of this small home. There was only the stove and a couple cupboards above the countertops, all ringing empty except for a bare few utensils. He was probably holding the only spoon in this place.

“Uhh…” Jesse cleared his throat, almost turning away from the hunter when he gave him that hopeful look. “I’d like t’ know who the guy who decided to save me is. Ya kinda owe me.”

The hunter furrowed his brows together and raised one at him. Jesse cracked a smile and chuckled at how ridiculous he looked. 

“Hanzo. I’m Hanzo.”

His smile widened and he was sure the blush was noticeable now. He didn’t seem to mind as much anymore (he could just blame it on the open fire).

“Name’s Jesse.” He went to tip his hat before remembering it wasn’t sitting on his head as usual; he’d have to get his stuff later. He looked at his bowl again and frowned at the lack of contents. “Could I get more of that gruel? I must be mighty more hungry than I thought.”

Hanzo stared at him for a moment before smiling and nodding, reaching out to take the bowl. Jesse had a good feeling things would be just fine for him from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	2. I Always Regret Midnight Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support and comments so far! And thanks to @autocon21 for putting up with the madness that is our Google Docs writing sessions.

The body beneath him finally stopped struggling and Hanzo quickly shifted back onto two human feet, breathing as much as his lungs would allow. He grabbed a fistful of matted fur and dragged the intruder up to the air, pulling him back onto the river bank to be laid on his side.

Hanzo stood above the body, watching his ragged breaths with a distant stare. Water leaked out the sides of his muzzle with every wheeze and cough.

He knelt down to face him properly. 

“Our next battle will be your last,” he spat in his mother tongue, “that is your only warning.”

He swiftly backed off and rushed away back into the shadows of the pines, ignoring the dwindling noises of the wolf left behind. The intruder’s survival was no concern of his, he repeated to himself, steeling his stance and resolve. Even if he made it (most likely; shifters were stronger than both their halves), he would only last long enough to report his findings to whoever sent him. Then a dead body would remind them what and whom they were dealing with.

Hanzo kept on that train of thought as he tracked his way back to his weapon, undisturbed by all that had happened. Just like him, just like him.

Hanzo allowed himself to relax once his bow was strapped over his shoulder and his quiver was full on his back. He would still need to go back and collect the arrows he had shot before he could go back to the cabin. Depending on who had sent the shifter, he would need to either re-mark his territory or… 

He cursed loudly, kicking a pebble away. If the Shimada-gumi had finally found him again, he had very little time to clear his home and disappear. Starting the cycle anew, a necessary pattern he had cultivated into the thing he hated most about his lifestyle.

He guessed it was true after all; there was no rest for the wicked.

He picked up the first arrow without a break in his step and made a beeline for the second one, embedded in a tree just above his head, when he remembered what the intruder had been doing moments before the chase.

Hanzo bent down, looking between each root for what had been hidden. A tracker of some sort? Communication device? Maybe something even more dangerous meant to take them both out… 

A metal glint caught his eye and he reached into the narrow gap, feeling an… arm? He prodded around it, feeling the ridges and wiring along the prosthetic limb. He recalled the bleeding stump he had left; it made sense that he would want to remove a prosthetic that wouldn’t change with him. That still didn’t answer Hanzo’s questions, though.

He kept digging and froze when his fingers brushed against a soft fabric. He pulled it toward the gap, surprised at the weight, until it all came out in a bundled pile. A red and yellow blanket, tattered with age, pulled apart and revealed a whole array of personal items.

A shirt, belts, a pair of pants (maybe? They were half made and held together with buckles), a pack of cigars, a large golden buckle, a pair of spurred boots, an unloaded gun in its holster, the ammunition, folded up armour plating, a disassembled communicator, and a well worn cowboy hat atop it all.

The most threatening part of this ensemble was the gun, but with no bullets in its old-fashioned chamber, it never could have presented a danger to him. He looked through one last time, sure he had missed something, but the inventory was the same. Nothing that would bring his enemies on his trail.

The shifter had been alone.

He was wrong.

“ _ Oh no _ .”

The shifting energy coursed through him once more that night and his lupine form carried him faster than the wind could strike all the way back to the river. Hanzo skidded to a stop, sending mud and rocks up in the air, almost falling into the water himself.

‘ _ No, no, no, no… _ ’ He turned back to his human form and spun around, eyes racing around the dimly lit clearing.

They found the wolf’s body where he had been left, still coughing and spraying flecks of water onto the grass. His legs were shaking with effort to stand and his chest was barely moving. A sight too familiar and terrifying. Hanzo’s breath caught, blinking the bloodied flashes away.

“You’re still alive, you’re alive.” He whispered, jumping straight into action (he couldn’t be scared, not  _ again _ ) and holding the wolf’s head up. He opened an eyelid, watching the pupil contract slightly against the moonlight. It watched him groggily, not registering him or the surroundings. 

He had to act fast.

Hanzo gently laid the head down on its side and moved down to the chest, spreading out the front paws to give him ample space.

(Did chest compressions work on animals?

He was a man, dammit. An innocent man.)

“I’m sorry,” he said over and over in quiet prayer before pressing his flat palms against the furry chest and pushing down  **hard** . Again and again. A rib cracked and he kept going, cursing and mumbling under his breath for a chance of a miracle.

The wolf coughed again, spitting out a fresh stream of water, even as Hanzo held his head back up and spoke to him, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

The coughing subsided and was replaced by wheezy breaths. Stronger than the gargled ones moments ago, but he wasn’t moving. 

Hanzo ran his fingers through his fur, trying to rouse him. “Not now, you can’t go now, you…”

A breeze knocked off his thought. It was getting cold. He needed to move the wolf before a more serious affliction took hold. 

Securing his bow and quiver to his back, Hanzo got up and slipped his arms under the heavy weight, thankful for all his years of archery training for the first time in years. 

As carefully as he could, Hanzo lifted the wolf over his shoulders, holding his head up with one arm as the other kept him in place. He made off into the shadows of the pines again, not as fast as before but with no less urgency in his steps. The wolf’s heartbeat thundered against his head, all too fast and weak at the same time. At least he was fighting; that was all Hanzo could hope for.

He stumbled a bit upon returning to the discarded belongings. He couldn’t just stop to take care of them… but the man would need his clothes back, and his arm. And he wouldn’t have time to pick them up later either. With a reluctant sigh he toed everything back into the blanket, then tied it up one-handed while balancing his shoulders.

He still hadn’t moved.

Muscle memory led him back to his isolated cabin and through the front door, ignoring the stale air and scent of ash covering the front rug. The bundle was thrown onto the couch haphazardly as he went straight to the small fireplace. He slowly and gently laid the wolf down on the rug, raising his head on a fallen cushion. He then shrugged off his pelt and grabbed a box of matches by the firewood, striking three times before the flame came to life and threw it onto the bare bones left in the fireplace. Two logs were thrown on too, flaring the brick gap to life and warming the room up instantly. 

He drew up a mental list of every towel and blanket he had, bringing what few he had to dry the wold off. He felt around the chest, careful not to jostle the cracked rib. It hadn’t broken, even after the rough run here, which left him with one less thing to worry about; the full moon would heal the worst of it.

That still left him with the threat of pneumonia, or worse. Hanzo sighed shakily, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair and closing his eyes for just a second.

It was going to be a long night.

 

**0XX0**

 

_ The lone wolf howled for mercy in the empty courtyards of their home, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. _

_ The Pup fought, weakening against her unforgiving pack. _

_ Sword met flesh and it fell, ready for the killing blow. _

_ He cried out, pleading, and his brother struck one final time. _

Hanko awoke with a jolt, sitting up with such vigor he nearly fell out of his makeshift seat against the couch. He gasped and gripped his hair, dropping his head to his knees and dragging breaths into his already too-full lungs. The dream fled him but the guilt stayed.

It would never leave him.

A white ethereal paw rested on his thigh, making him look up into Iwanko’s soft amber gaze. He said nothing, only looking at Hanzo with a hint of judgement and sympathy that always lingered around him. 

Hanzo gathered himself and patted the spirit’s head, blocking sunlight from piercing his form and bathing him in golden light. A glance at the clock told him it was early afternoon; he had managed to get a couple hours of sleep at least.

A low whine averted their attention to the cold fireplace, and the wolf-man waking up beside Hachiko’s ghostly form.

“Shit!” Hanzo walked through the spirits as the wolf-man stood, keeping a safe distance. “You’re alri…”

The wolf-man turned around, half formed muzzle twisted in a snarl and gold-brown eyes glaring at him with only a bare trace of the man left in them. He braced himself against the wall, growling, and took a step towards Hanzo. His voice died out in a whistling cough and he doubled over onto his knees as his fur receded into his skin.

Hanzo grabbed a towel and threw it over the wolf-man’s shoulders, politely ignoring the fact that he was as naked as the day he was born.

“You’re still sick,” Hanzo explained, pulling away when the wolf-man kept glaring at him through the coughs. Hanzo looked around, spotting the pile of clothes he had set aside before falling asleep. He reached for it, keeping eye contact. “If you’re shifting back, you should get dressed. To keep warm.”

_ That’s a lie _ , Iwanko muttered in the back of his mind. He kindly reminded the spirit to shut up.

He held out the clothes and the wolf-man considered them, giving Hanzo a dirty look before snatching them. He limped over to the couch and Hanzo flinched at the sound of reforming bones behind him. Hachiko phased through his legs to follow, even when the wolf-man growled a weak warning. 

Once the rustling stopped, Hanzo turned around and was greeted by the sight of Iwanko and Hachiko crowding around the wolf-man, who was struggling to get back onto his ever shifting feet.

“Don’t get up.” Hanzo moved over, holding out his hands to push the wolf-man down onto the couch proper. He went to growl again but his face fell with a twitch of his nose against his palm. He let out another whine and relaxed, closing his eyes.

Hanzo swallowed and made a cautious step forward, freezing when the wolf-man pressed his forehead to his palm and whined again. 

His brain skipped a beat and his eyes skirted around before finally landing on the other’s open shirt. He cleared his throat loudly and moved his hands away to button up the shirt, desperate for any distraction. He felt the muzzle nose at his hair and hurried up, quick to jump away the moment he could.

“Get some rest, you need it.” He walked away through Iwanko and Hachiko, leaving behind a whisp trail as they dissipated into thin air. He glanced at the wolf-man, who hadn’t moved except to watch him walk over to one of many bookcases in his home. 

He sighed, relenting. “I will stay here, to keep an eye on you.”

That seemed to please the wolf-man enough for him to lay down on the couch and curl up under a bold ray of sun. Hanzo let out a breath of relief and sagged under this new weight. He just hoped to Whoever was listening that none of this would be remembered by the time he shifted back to full human form.

Hanzo picked up a book from a shelf without looking and moved away to get on with the rest of the day. It turned out to be a thin fishing guide he had already poured through, but he re-read it just to give himself something to do. He made himself a makeshift seat out of the blankets opposite the couch, restarted the fire twice, unsuccessfully tried to tidy his hair into a bun and successfully warded off Hachiko’s attempts at conversation, all while watching the wolf disappear into the slumbering man.

By the time it was dark again, Iwanko reminded him of his rumbling stomach and stale stench, and compelled him to get up to take care of himself. He hesitated but went anyway, knowing his companion wouldn’t let it go any time soon.

He went off and changed into a fresh pair of sweats and an undershirt, then made a beeline to the kitchen. He stopped by the couch, checking on his ‘guest’, and quickly detoured to throw some of the blankets over him.

There wasn’t much in his small kitchen to make a meal out of, but he had made more with less before. His first port of call was a pot of tea with dashes of ginger and lemon to soothe his aching throat (he couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken so much), and then he started on the stew. 

He heard the door open as he dropped in chopped up herbs and glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the man staring at him wide-eyed, growling. He turned around, staring back. 

“You’re awake.”

 

**0XX0**

 

“I really woke up an’ got dressed? Jesus.” Jesse bowed his head and scratched behind his ear. Hanzo nodded at him, poking at his bowl of stew with his only fork as he folded his feet underneath him by the couch.

“It seemed as though the wolf was in control, rather than you.”

“No kiddin’, I don’t have the slightest recollection of any of that.” Jesse sighed and rolled his shoulders, going back to fiddling with his prosthetic arm (apparently Hanzo had been too rough carrying it and it needed recalibrating, but he guessed that he just wanted something to keep them from making eye contact again).

They sat apart from each other, Jesse back on the couch and Hanzo sitting on the floor at the other end. The drawling Southerner had inhaled most of the stew and was now chewing on jerky strips Hanzo had dug up from his pantry. Not that he minded at all; it gave him a better chance of overall recovery.

They glanced at each other but said nothing, averting their eyes as quickly as they came. Hanzo chewed slowly as Jesse tinkered away, small noises filling up the silence between them. What was there left to say anyway?

“Uh,” Jesse cleared his throat and sat up, picking up his hat to sit on his head. “I should probably get outta yer hair. Gotta keep movin’ an’ all that.”

“You can’t.” Three noises of surprise, not including his own, reached his ears. “You’re still at risk, from pneumonia or brain injury or…“

Jesse stared at him, flushed from cheeks to neck. Hanzo ignored his own.

“I can’t let you go in good conscious until I know you won’t drop dead out there.”

He kept staring, strong distrust creeping back into those soft browns Hanzo was pleading with. He reached around the couch and picked up the unloaded six-shooter, offering it out to as an olive branch.

Jesse blinked, watching the gun and twitching his nose in a way Iwanko couldn’t help but comment on. He looked at Hanzo as he took the gun, holding it with such precision that Hanzo knew he didn’t need bullets to kill him with it. 

“Alright then, Hanzo. I’ll take ya up on yer offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering, the noodles are wolves as according to Hanzo's Okami skin. Genji's is called Pup, and Hanzo's are Iwanko (the Japanese name of Rockruff) and Hachiko (one of Japan's most famous icons). Creativity was never a Shimada trait. 
> 
> Next chapter is the start of a super long two parter all about backstory! I'm gonna take a small break to get back to art but I should have the first part up before I go on holiday in a couple weeks.
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	3. Holding On For Dear life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EDIT** Chapter's been updated with Retribution/Uprising-accurate lore and information on the characters. Anything inaccurate is me messing with the canon for this AU <3
> 
> I'm so sorry this took so long, but better late than never! I had a lot of fun with this chapter and I hope you do too.

In the past year or so since the aptly named Venice Incident, Jesse had learnt to keep on the lookout for signs of a mission about to hit the fan. But even for someone with as keen an eye as his, they were easy to miss. Jefe’s minute twitches and fidgeting were one of them; he sat at the end of the transport, tapping the barrel of a shotgun while his eyes raced around the small team accompanying him. They met Jesse’s gaze and moved away just as quickly.

Jesse took out his cigarillo and stubbed it on his boot, fighting the urge to grit his teeth. Gabe rarely got nervous,  _ Jefe  _ certainly didn’t, but nothing Jesse came up with made sense. This was a mission to kill the targets, barely a plan at all but to run in guns blazing, maybe take home a few mercs if they got in. So how the hell could Jefe go off-script?

Tonight was a non-standard off-the-books mission (even on Blackwatch servers) that had become more commonplace since Gérard’s death mere months ago. Nothing that demanded their full power, hence why they kept the trigger-happy ninja and Doctor Moreau at home this time, but Jefe still wanted a decent amount of firepower with him, so Jesse was taken along. Jefe had found a mercenary pocket dealing with Talon in his own personal investigations, except now his sources confirmed to him that they had been ‘irreversibly compromised’ and Talon was on the way to take them out. Now it was Blackwatch’s job to get in before they did, take their invaluable information away from Talon one way or another.

(It was at times like these that Jesse missed the French bastard. His plans had class, a beginning and a middle and an end.

How were things going downhill so quickly?)

Jesse sighed through his nose,  pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes and tucked his chin into his black serape, blocking out the curious stares from his teammates and the more judgemental one from Jefe. He didn’t have a good feeling about this mission, and since Venice, he’d learnt to listen to those gut instincts more closely. The glimpse of anxiety that kept him on his toes and away from the trap of overconfidence were now snares to plunge him into a pit of doubt, keep him there until Gabe’s teachings were nothing but the smoke that rolled off his shoulders.

Jesse refused to let that happen, and so clung to his training like the lifeline it had started out as 13 years ago. It was the only thing that was going to get him through tonight.

The transport shuddered on its landing and all eyes went to Jefe. He stood up silently, cocking his shotguns, and slid his communicator over his ear. Jesse and the rest followed suit, all weapons at the ready and spirits ready to blaze. Time to shine.

The full moon lit up the entire valley, leaving few shadows to blend into. The bunker had no guards outside its doors, which meant these mercenaries were idiots or Talon had come earlier than expected. Either way, they couldn’t waste any time out here.

Jefe crept up to the front door, out of sight from any security cameras (though Hollee should have taken care of those back on transport) and checked the door. He signalled to Kochanski and they swapped places, allowing the modern lock-picker to work her magic.

Jefe stood beside Jesse and let out a heavy breath, rising moonlight reflecting off the grey hairs in his beard and forming a dozen new wrinkles around his eyes for just a second. Once the bunker door was open, he was as young as a trainee again and leading them down the dark corridor without a worry in the world, keeping Jesse close to his side as always.

The corridors and first few rooms were as empty as the rural country outside, not a sign of life to give credit to their intel, but Jefe kept going all the way to the end where a large vault door stood. Everything was silent and nerves were raised, all guns aimed and trigger fingers all too eager. Jefe leaned his shoulder against the door and nodded.

The second the vault door slammed open, chaos erupted. 

In the first seven seconds, three of the mercenaries were shot in the knees and Lestor took one to the shoulder. Jefe marched right into the fire and pistol whipped a guy reaching for their ancient AK-63, then shot another point blank in the gut. By the time Jesse was reloading, bodies were already piling up and blood was about to splatter up the walls. Everyone else had found their cover and now it was all just a matter of timing and moving the mercs into a tight corner. 

A typical Blackwatch day, really. Not that he liked it, but he’d learnt recently there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Jesse took cover behind Kryt’s proton shield, only popping up to shoot the omnic of the group right in the chest. Two others shot back at him just as Kryt moved forward. Jesse stayed low for cover and that’s when he saw it.

That tiny shine of an eye and the minute shudder of the door concealed by a stack of crates, signs of someone desperately trying to hide from the fight. Failing miserably too.

With all of the focus on the firefight, Jefe hadn’t caught the missing merc watching through the crack. But Jesse was close enough that he could slip in without tipping off the trigger happy distractions just yards away. He’d get his head chewed off later, but the mission came first; leave no one behind.

Nothing he couldn’t handle better than Gabe anyway.

He made a break for it, jumping over to Kochanski’s hiding spot behind an overturned table. She glared at him whilst assembling a flash bang which he promptly stole and ran off with, even as she screamed a curse at him (“ _ Get back here, arsehole! _ ”). Ace, shooting from the crates, made perfect cover as Jesse knelt by the door and pressed his ear as close to the open gap as possible. He breathed in, out, and then rolled in with the flash bang thrown ahead.

Light filled the small room as did the screech from whoever was curling away from the blast, giving Jesse more than enough time to whip out Peacekeeper and fire twice at the outline of a knee and shoulder.

The light died as quickly as it was born, drowning the storage space in darkness especially after nudging the door shut, leaving only a high porthole full of moon to light up the room. It was enough for Jesse to freeze and nearly drop his gun.

There was no man or omnic in front of him. It stood on two shaky legs, hunched over with shredded clothes hanging on its frame by a thread, its whole body constantly shifting and turning… beastly. Glowing yellow eyes locked onto him from a face snarling hunger and wilderness, teeth growing longer and sharper by the second. Fur grew out from sickly pale skin, even from the bleeding bullet wounds now patching themselves up sinew by sinew.

The beast roared, barely louder than the gunfire.

Jesse shot three times. The beast didn’t care for the blood spilling out of its head. 

“Shit.”

He reached for a reload, gaze never straying or even blinking when sweat dropped onto his lashes, hardly breathing. He took a step back towards the door and the beast pounced.

Years of training got Jesse away from the first strike, dashing to the side and about to reload when the beast twisted itself like an owl’s head and clawed across his front.

The ammo went flying and Peacekeeper clattered to the concrete floor, too far to reach. His chest armour now bore four long splintering scars, his serape was in tatters, and more were coming. The beast was way too close, breathing onto him and dripping blackness. Jesse threw his serape at it, stomped his heel onto the closest foot and punched it under the jaw. The sharp bone cut deeply into his fingers but the beast yowled in pain and fell aside for him to rush to Peacekeeper.

He picked up the weapon, whipping around in time to kick the beast in the muzzle hard enough for it to crack and recoil Jesse to the ground.

He threw up his arm just as the beast’s jaws snapped at him. He didn’t hear his scream when the fangs sank into his bare skin and  _ burnt _ .

His veins ignited and the fire spread up his arm all the way to his chest. He kept yelling, kicking at the beast’s underbelly and yanking his arm away. Fangs sank deeper into the skin and the pain began anew, ripping him apart atom by atom.

A voice cried out, muffled by the blood rushing through his ears.

An explosion. The beast shuddered, eyes wide. Another, it’s chest blew apart. It turned away, taking his arm with it and tearing open the muscles.

The next shot took the beast’s head off its shoulders.

Jesse yelped and kicked the bleeding body away from him when Jefe rushed to him, holding his arm still, with the beast’s jaw still attached.

“Don’t move, McCree.” His shotguns were thrown to the ground near Peacekeeper (when had he dropped that? When did the shooting stop? How long had he been here? What was tha—), and Jefe clamped his hands around the muzzle, cracking the jaw in one swift motion.

Jesse cursed loudly in a mix of English and Spanish, cradling his arm to his chest and breathing through the stinging waves of pain (why the fuck had they left O'Deorain behind, why wasn’t there a medic—). An arm pulled him off the ground and Jefe was crowding his space, looking at him with too much concern for Blackwatch; Gabriel was anchoring him.

“Jefe, what was that sh-shit?” His voice shook, echoing all around his mind and making him hiss through his teeth. “F-Fuck, it hurts, fuck! Wh-hat’d it do t’ me?!”

“I got you, Jesse. I’m here.” He turned away, shouting. “Get that body in a bag, pronto! Ace, give me your Dundee knife  _ now _ .”

Other voices responded, too close and too far, he couldn’t concentrate on anything. The room flashed around him and he squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them again when Gabriel grabbed his jaw, staring right into him.

“Focus on  _ me _ , Jesse.” He nodded, breathing deeply but not catching it. “I gotta check your arm quick.”

He nodded again and Gabriel took his arm, ripping off his glove and pushing his rolled sleeve further up his bicep and exposing the gaping, burning black wounds even more to the open air. Jesse hissed and cursed, gripping his free hand on Gabriel’s shoulder as if he were a green cadet and not 30 years old, dying.

Gabriel swore loudly, lowering Jesse to the ground and picking up his glove again.

“G-Gabe…?” He choked out before the fabric was shoved into his mouth.

“Look at me, Jesse. Just focus on me, just me.” Gabriel moved his arm and held his face, pushing his weight onto Jesse’s abdomen. Jesse stared at him, feeling the tears slip from his eyes too easily and his throat tighten around any words he wanted to cry out.

The glint of a long knife swung out of his vision. He heard his scream this time.

Gabriel’s weight held him down, even as he thrashed and kicked and screamed, digging his nails into the meat of his shoulder too deeply. Blackness came and went. Gabe filled his vision, whispering in a hurried, broken voice.

“Hold on, Jesse. I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay. You’ll be okay.” Thumbs ghosted over his cheeks. His breathing hitched and his voice cracked. “Stay with me, mijo.”

The other voices came back, muffled right next to him. He whimpered through the cloth and closed his eyes again as his arm was tied up, holding in the loose blood. Every fibre of his being was alert yet full of static, screaming pain with every tiny jostle that refused to connect.

Gabe kept talking to him, never leaving his sight, even as it left him in dark spots. He became weightless, surrounded by familiar arms and his mother tongue. His misplaced hat was put over his face and the world faded away.

 

**0XX0**

 

Gabriel woke with a jolt before the hand landed on his shoulder. He made to grab the wrist before his mind quickly cleared to show Angela standing in front of him.

“How are you feeling, sir?” She asked, folding her hands in front of her to resist the urge to straighten the commander’s slouch. He ran his free hand down his face, grumbling under his breath and clutching onto Jesse’s hat.

“What are the tests showing?” Angela cleared her throat, glancing up to the ceiling. She could feel the eyes on her already.

“If I could be blunt,” He kept staring, so she took a breath, “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Now he was glaring and standing up to full height, towering over her easily. She kept her gaze steady, training at the forefront. 

“You’re testing for changes,  _ chica _ .” She pursed her lips and planted her feet, even as the bristle surged up her spine. “Anything to the brain, nervous system, immunity, his friggin’ DNA.”

“And I’m telling you, all base tests came back negative for everything I have in the system.” She bit back, staring him back in the eye with just as much ire. 

He crowded in, lowering his voice to a tone she supposed scared his grunts. “Look deeper, outside your system. I need you to be completely sure nothing’s changed.”

“I cannot run those kinds of tests unless I  _ know  _ what I am looking for, Commander Reyes.”

“You already know—”

“I do not, that’s the problem—”

“You were given tissue samples to work with—”

“A few scraps at best, and then you incinerated the rest when I could have healed his arm and reattached it!”

“ **_No_ ** , you couldn’t. Stop arguing with me and do your job!”

“This  _ isn’t  _ my job, it’s O'Deorain’s but you’ve ordered my expertise instead which I can’t give unless—”

“I have to know if Jesse lost his arm for a good reason!” 

Angela held her tongue as Gabriel slumped over, hand over his eyes and breathing heavily. Jesse’s hat was held tightly to his chest, and she reached out for it.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Both heads, cool and collected, turned to face the oncoming figure of Jack Morrison, all gussied up in his Strike Commander gear and wearing a face too red and weary to be anything but post-meeting stress all focused on Gabriel.

“Is this where you’ve been the past three days, Reyes?! I’ve had Command hounding me about you for hours and I’ve had it up to here…”

Tired blue eyes found the hat and softened. Angela took a step back, able to breath once again.

“What happened to McCree?” Jack asked, looking between the two as he came close.

“He was attacked,” Gabriel breathed out, all his bite gone. “I had to cut his arm.”

“Jesus.” Jack whispered, taking off his eyepiece and disconnecting it before running a hand through his hair, white strands and wrinkles suddenly more bold than ever. “Who got him?”

Gabriel flashed his eyes to Angela so fast she almost missed it. “Werewolf.”

She choked out a laugh despite herself and stood next to Jack, who mirrored her disbelief perfectly. “That’s ridiculous, they don’t exist.”

“But… I thought we got rid of them all.” 

_ What _ ?

Angela looked between the two men as they continued to speak, talking as if she was never there to listen and become more confused by the second. 

“We never got rid of  _ all  _ of them, Jack.” Gabriel shook his head and then adjusted his beanie, closing his eyes. “Faoladh and wulvers, remember?”

“Obviously, but they would never do something like this.” Jack rubbed his jaw, eyes darting over the walls and floor. “I know it’s too far west, but it could have been a Berserker. Sounds like their type of attack.”

_ Berserker… _ ? “Wait, do you mean Úlfhéðnar?”

Gabriel and Jack turned to her at last, taking in her wide eyes and sweating brow. She crossed her arms, gripping her sleeves though that did nothing to slow her fidgeting. 

“Nein, those are  _ myths _ .” She urged, looking them both in the eye again. “They don’t exist, sirs.”

The pair raised eyebrows at each other, conversing in a total silence only they could hope to understand. A kind not seen since the pressures of command had been few and far between. Angela bit her lip, worries eating away at her reserve.

“I’ll get you clearance on the files you need for testing.” Jack said after a moment, frowning as Gabriel scowled and looked away. “But only that. Everything else will be redacted.” 

“Make sure you keep it to yourself,” Gabriel added in a clipped voice, “no other eyes but yours, Ziegler.”

“Ja, I understand, sirs.” She nodded and stepped back again, eyes averting from them and their private silence. As she turned away to go back to work, they spoke:

“I’ll call the strike team together, let them know. Gabe…”

“I’m fine! I’ll be there.”

“…You did the right thing, you know that, right?”

She left.

 

**0XX0**

 

Meeting in Torbjörn’s workshop was just like meeting in a utility cupboard if Ana’s aching shoulders were anything to go by. She couldn’t imagine how Reinhardt was feeling next to her; he kept rolling his neck and shoulders, and shifting on his feet to avoid hitting his head on a shelf of turret parts, all the more determined not to show his age now that the threat of retirement was lapping at his heels. Ana rubbed his arm and shot a dirty look to Gabriel sitting near the front of the group.

He was still holding onto the boy’s hat, having never let go of it since he dragged her from the medical wing’s doors to this sweltering smeg pit. She’d seen Jesse when he’d been brought in a few days ago, so she could understand Gabriel’s dower mood.

However, she was still free to be upset by his attitude to the team.

When Jack finally made it into the room, all eyes turned to him with their own brand of ire and annoyance. He ignored them all and went to stand head of them all, glancing to Gabriel before speaking.

“I know this isn’t the best circumstances for an emergency meeting—” The group threw out their curses at him, which he took in stride. “—but I assure you there’s good reason.”

“No such thing, Jackie.” Torbjörn griped from his usual workspace, nudging away intruding elbows to his personal bubble.

“What is said in this room cannot leave it until I give the word, understood?” Gabriel scoffed and Ana gave the great leader a dubious look as Reinhardt and Torbjörn grudgingly agreed. “Recent events have revealed that there is a resurgence of werewolves, and one bit Agent McCree on the last Blackwatch mission.”

Ana’s hand flew to her mouth as she mouthed the word she never thought she would hear again.  _ Werewolf _ . After all their hard work all those years ago, for them to return and attack one of her own. That meant… 

“His arm.” She looked to Gabriel who only stared at her barely-hidden panic. “Gabriel, tell me it didn’t spread before you cut it off.”

His gaze fell to the floor and his shoulders sat defeated, a husk of the proud man he presented himself as. The hat dangled from his fingers as limp as the corpse he probably felt like. 

“I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know?!” Torbjörn and Reinhardt yelled in unison, sitting up to full height. Ana and Jack flinched but Gabriel just sat still, eyes watching the dust flit around the floor. 

“Angela is running tests as we speak to make sure nothing spread.” Jack stood forward, arms raised though it did nothing to calm anyone’s worries. “But we need to consider that there are others out there beginning a new plague, and we need to recall the task force.”

“Without Liao?” Ana asked, bringing Jack’s piercing blues to her. Everyone else glanced to the empty seat beside Gabriel, the same question burning in their minds: How could they fight such an enemy without Liao’s expertise and guidance?

“We’ll make due.” Jack answered simply, glancing over the group but never landing on the unoccupied space. 

“Jack,” Reinhardt sighed, earlier fire simmered down to an ember and his voice a rare quiet, “this was hard enough to do and keep quiet when Overwatch was just us and a few privates. How can we hope to do the same today?”

The commander kept silent, curling his hands into fists and releasing them in a slow motion. Ana kept her trained eye on him, daring him to step up. They all knew the hardships the higher command, and especially the U.N, would give them for putting their task force back together again. All because of one attack; too risky, not enough evidence, the public will not stand this… 

But they also knew from hardened experience that one attack was a sign of dozens more hiding in the shadows.

They could only hope there was time to do something, before it was too late.

“It’ll be difficult, that much is obvious, but if we work and plan together, we can make make something worthwhile.” As Jack continued to talk, Ana gazed over to Gabriel again. He was backed out of the conversation, head tucked and hands turning over his boy’s hat in an endless cycle.

Sneaking around the men, she came to stand in Liao’s spot and put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. He barely picked his head up when her other hand reached down to take the hat away.

“You need to rest, Gabe.” She said quietly, pressing her palm into the exhausted muscle. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Eventually, he nodded and passed the torch of watchman without so much as a word to his team as he left empty-handed. 

 

**0XX0**

 

The worst decision Jesse McCree has ever made in his 30 years? Opening his eyes to a brightly lit ceiling and listening to the too loud background noise blaring around him, that’s what. He groaned and added that to his mistake list; his throat felt like metal shavings rubbing against sandpaper. There was a sore ache all over him, the telltale sign of anesthesia and a bucket load of painkillers.

“About time you woke up, bakayarou.”

He groaned again, trying to push away what felt like the world’s worst hangover and flopped his head over to face Genji on his right. His damn creepy red eyes flashed too brightly and he squinted his eyes, frowning.

“Oh great, I’m in yer sanctum.” 

Genji laughed, a hollow tinny and ingenuine sound and waved a hand at him. “We both know my sanctum is right next to yours: at the bottom of a dumpster.”

“Where all the trash belongs.” Jesse laughed, which quickly turned to a harsh cough. A new hand helped him sit up and offered a glass of water.

“Drink before you make another ancient joke.” Ana put his hand around the glass and made him lift it up to his lips. He took a sip and she sat back down, watching him with her eagle eye. She looked just as tired as he felt. How long had she been there?

Once he had his fill, Ana took the glass back and adjusted his pillows. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Genji answered for him. Ana shot him an unimpressed scowl.

“He ain’t wrong.” Jesse shook his hair out of his eyes, adjusting to the changing hues and tones around him. They settled long enough for him to focus on the guests who were studying him intently. “What’s the official report?”

“You were attacked.” Ana leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, still watching. “What do you remember?”

“I got bit by a… a friggin’ monster. It was like somethin’ outta a nightmare.” Jesse shuddered, resting his head back to close his eyes. Flashes of the beast jumped at him; ‘nightmare’ was a huge understatement. 

“And?” She pressed. Genji stayed at the side, eyes narrowed. So much for keeping up the conversation.

“A hell of a lotta pain, an’… an’ Jefe was there, talkin’ to me.” He called me mijo, he swallowed.

Ana nodded and unfolded herself to lean over and hold his hand, like he was lil’ Fareeha scared of omnic zombies under the bed. He gripped back anyway. 

“Jesse, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll be blunt: You lost your arm.”

No.

No, no… 

Jesse snapped his neck over to his left side and felt the air in his lungs strangle his throat; lying atop the scratchy bedsheets was the bandaged stump of an arm that once was, numb as his mind and the most frightening thing he had ever seen.

“W-Where’s my arm? Angela’s gonna reattach it, right? She’s gotta, I can’t shoot one-handed, Ana. I can’t…”

Ana tightened her grip on his remaining hand as Genji leaned in carefully. “No, she’s not, Jesse. Your arm was badly infected, it had to go.”

“B-But I… I…”

His arm was  _ gone _ . It couldn’t be, how could he be an agent if he couldn’t shoot right, that’s why Jefe recruited him, his life couldn’t be  _ gone _ .

“You were attacked by an okami, McCree.” Genji stated, his tone back to its low grunt as if this were a personal mission, not a trip to his teammate’s bedside. Jesse furrowed his brow and glared hard.

“Shimada, I swear to fuc—”

“You remember what my crazy-as-shit family worshipped, right?” Genji’s hand hovered over his ever-present sword, green energy emerging from the blade. Jesse clamped his mouth shut, knowing what it entailed; he’d been witness to the giant, shattered wolf spirit more times than he liked.

“As unlikely as it sounds,” Ana spoke, taking command in her calm, wise manner, “you were bitten by a werewolf, Jesse. Gabriel took your arm off to stop the virus from spreading and turning you into a monster.”

Jesse swallowed and closed his eyes again, letting his mind run wild with the new information. He’d had a close brush with death, once again, and barely dodged the presumably irreversible consequences. A goddamn werewolf of all supernatural freaks; he’d seen and done too much to  _ not  _ believe it. The beast in the bunker had hardly looked anything like a wolf but he hadn’t been paying attention much to its looks. Hell, what did he even know? He didn’t know they were real until twenty seconds ago.

Ana’s hold on him brought his attention back to reality and he rested his gaze on her’s, begging for anything else but the quiet.

“Torbjörn is working on a prosthetic for you, something to help hold a firearm.” She rolled her eyes, all thoughts on metallic trigger fingers already out in the open with their engineering friend. “And you’ve been transferred to Doctor Ziegler’s care from O'Deorain, Reyes’ orders. She’ll keep you under surveillance and do testing on you for the next few weeks, to make sure you haven’t sustained any permanent damage from the attack.”

Jesse made a noise in the back of his throat and laid back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling tiles. He couldn’t think, yet his mind raced for a blank future that lay ahead of him. A shadow fell over his eyes and the familiar weight of his hat settled on his head along with a gentle stroke of his hair.

“Do you want us to leave?”

“No.”

 

**0XX0**

 

Soon enough they did leave, if only because Angela came in and threatened them with her tray of many needles and drugs to chase them off. Jesse whined the loss, but company kept flowing in between naps and IV drip changes, so he wasn’t given much time to notice the loneliness. 

Reinhardt had burst in with tears, crushing hugs and the best news Jesse had heard all year: Fareeha would be making her way over to visit within a couple of weeks if all went well at her current deployment (and if Ana stayed off base in that time). She had been given Jesse’s news and was adamant about coming to see her ‘dumbass brother for breaking all their promises and not calling enough’.

(She couldn’t blame him; she was just as busy as he was and rarely returned messages!)

That spunky cadet Genji trained with (Oxton, was it?) came in at Torbjörn’s heels, chatting away as he took measurements for the prosthetic. Jesse didn’t know her well, but he appreciated the distraction all the same. Anything to make him stop thinking about the empty space his arm once filled.

Morrison had dropped in for a few words and to warn him to keep the werewolf business quiet; the supernatural were not widespread knowledge and he’d like to keep it that way. Jesse shot him his most charming smile and ‘yessir’, only to get a scowl in return. 

The Overwatch agents who visited ate up the falsified report and badgered him about the wild beast he had survived. His fellow Blackwatch agents (O'Deorain especially before Angela had banned her from the medical wing) didn’t believe a word, but knew the importance of secrets more than anybody; they’d allow him and Jefe to keep quiet for the sake of safety. 

Jefe himself slipped in after sunset, during the peak of the quiet hour in the medbay. They talked about the reports, the prosthetic, but never said much. The keyword was hanging between them yet was ignored in all the moments of silence. Instead they laughed at Morrison’s expense, expressed pride at getting rid of the Deadlock mark at long last, and expressed smiles at the news of Fareeha, the safe territory.

Hours later, as Jefe was getting up to head back to work, he faced Jesse head on and spoke.

“I’m glad it’s still you, kid.”

He agreed and was left alone to his last visitor of the day. 

Pup was more talked about than she was seen, and for good reason. Genji only ever summoned her in the heat of battle for a guaranteed victory, and the broken spirit was hardly thought to be good company to those who knew about her. They knew she spoke to Genji as some sort of spirit-voodoo-mystic guide on his quest for vengeance, and Angela had spotted her tail floating around corners in the medbay sometimes.

Plus they all liked to make fun of her name when Genji was in the mood for light ribbing.

Needless to say, when the small spirit wolf plopped her eery green head on Jesse’s side in the middle of the night, he wasn’t prepared.

She watched him with her cracked eyes as he scrambled up in his bed away from her. He bit his tongue down on a yell, even as his hair bristled and his mind screamed at him to fight her off, defend himself, protect the turf. Even after all this time, her splintered and cracked appearance that held no figure beyond a simple, implied shape unnerved him to his core.

_ Are you done? _ She tilted her head at him, waiting.

“Y-Yeah…” He whispered back, watching her carefully.

_ Good! We’ve been worried about you _ , Pup’s fractured tongue hung out from her mouth in imitation of a smile.

“Uh, glad to hear.” Jesse glanced around quickly; they were alone.

_ Make sure you rest, cub. You need to heal _ , Pup scooted up to boop his cheek with her cold nose before scurrying away and disappearing beyond the drawn curtains. Jesse rubbed the cheek and blinked.

When the hell did she start talking to other people?

 

**0XX0**

 

The kid looked better than he had in days, that much was sure. Ziegler had been too soft on him, letting him go a whole week without shaving, sleeping the bare minimum for basic human interaction, and just plain not looking after himself. She was so focused on searching for the werewolf virus and keeping his arm free of infection that she hadn’t noticed him withering away into a depression.

Gabe didn’t let that carry on once Jesse was released into his care. He helped him wash off days worth of grime, taking care with the still-sore stump of his arm that Jesse had trouble looking at without bandages, then teaching him to shave all over again with the one hand.

They shared laughs over Jesse’s bleeding chin and bumping elbows in all the wrong places, splashing themselves more than once and ending the morning with higher spirits. They went out for lunch at their local favourite and hung in the streets with cigars hanging from their lips.

The kid still refused to talk. He couldn’t get his own damn kid to confide in him about the nightmare they’d been through.

He was going to apologise to Ana for the rest of his life.

Gabe stuck around for the next few days as Jesse continued to adjust, each one bringing a new forlorn look to his eyes. Things he took for granted, ripped away because of  _ him _ . Jesse knew the reasons, understood the risks, but Gabe couldn’t help the way his chest broke when he caught sight of that look. He tried to reason with himself, but the fear rose up stronger and louder each time; he could’ve been cured, he could’ve resisted, he could’ve, he might’ve, he should have… 

Now he would never know if that fear was right, because he’d hacked off the chance.

The team all told him the same thing: he had done the right thing at the time. His kid would heal and life would move on. Hell, he was already healing faster than Angela had predicted, all wounds closed up and scarring up what was left. Ana was already retraining his other arm to take advantage of the Deadeye for God’s sake.

Fitting on the prototype arm breathed new life into Jesse instantly, giving him a smile that reached his eyes for the first time in days. It was a simple little thing with basic hand functions and it weighed a tonne. The final prosthetic needed to be durable and multipurpose to be any use on missions, so Jesse might as well get used to the weight now. 

He would also have to get used to the whining if the kid kept going on about pinching nerves, pins and needles, and whatever else was bothering him. God, he never complained this much, even as a newbie.

When he had enough of it and told the kid to shut up, Jesse had thrown him a wild shit-eating grin and laughed it off, claiming he ‘still got it’. Gabe had to do a double take; he’d imagined those long canines and the golden glint in his eye. He had to.

Luckily for Gabe, though, he could get his payback through his training sessions with the arm. A few extra punches here, a sweeping kick there, and Jesse was suddenly very sorry for being a smartass. He still didn’t talk, even after being caught in the throws of phantom pain after blocking a light hit.

Gabe knew how Jesse worked, maybe better than Ana did (even if she was loathe to admit it); he knew that he didn’t open up easily. Signs of weakness weren’t permitted in Deadlock and before. He had to prove himself, again and again to the point of breaking just to show he could. All the training and support in the world couldn’t drive out instincts that deep, no matter what.

But Gabe wasn’t going to give up on his kid, not when everyone else had.

Nonetheless, he kept cautious over the days. Between office hours and his own missions, he watched Jesse like he had nothing to lose (he didn’t). The kid hadn’t outwardly changed as far as he could see and Ana hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary either, but they could never be too careful. He had Genji on the watch as well (he vaguely remembered Liao telling Ana once that children confided in their friends before their parents and were more open around them for whatever reason), but the Shimada wasn’t overly helpful either.

For a kid who came from a yakuza family of wolf-god worshippers, he knew very little of Jesse’s current condition. His spirit apparently sensed a change in him, but there was nothing to say if it was the virus taking hold or symptoms of his body flushing it out; they wouldn’t know until the next full moon. For an ancient wise spirit, she was utterly useless.

Gabe was coming to the end of his rope, and even watching his recruits fuss over a stray puppy Peterson had brought in only twitched his lips up once or twice. Jesse had managed to get the pup to cuddle up to him before anyone else and was cradling the small creature in his prosthetic arm, whispering nonsense to it and mothering it like it was his own child. 

(He imagined the low growl when Peterson tried to take the pup back. He had to have.  _ He had to. _ )

One day, a couple weeks post-incident, Ana cornered him before a training session in the range with a look in her eye that could only mean trouble for its victim.

“If you don’t ask him head on, he’s never going to trust you care enough to break his shell, Gabi.”

So now he was here, standing in the locker room like an idiot, waiting for Jesse to finish cleaning up and get out so they could have a heart-to-heart. Talking to the kid wasn’t like talking to Jack (hell, talking to Jack wasn’t like talking to Jack anymore), he had no idea what he was doing. But Ana had a point (as always, the smug woman) and this needed to be done.

“Hey, kid.” Gabe cleared his throat, watching Reinhardt at the opposite side of the room minding his own business. “Walk with me, we need to talk.”

“Sure.” Jesse murmured as he pulled his boots on, not once looking him up in the eye. His usual get up was abandoned for casual training gear, somehow matching his mood. An unusually dark scowl was etched onto his features, making Gabe glance out of the window. The sun was about to set behind a curtain of thick clouds, painting them purple and red. The moon was nowhere to be seen.

“Look,” he started, switching over to Spanish, “I know it’s been rough for you recently, McCree, with everything that happened.”

“No shit.”

Gabe took a deep breath. Patience was key, even if he had little. “And I know I’m not the best at expressing it… but I worry about you. You can talk to me about problems, kid.”

Jesse scoffed loudly and side-eyed him, the scowl still in its place. “Whatever, boss. I’m not in the mood for this crap.” 

_ The lil’ ingrate _ … Gabe bit down hard on his tongue, breathing again. “It still needs to be said, and what you think doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Honesty isn’t exactly on our job description,  _ sir _ .” Jesse spat out, ducking his head and rubbing his flesh palm against his eyes and forehead. “Will you let me go like the damn grown man I am already?”

“Jesse—”

“ _ What _ ?” He spun around to face him, eyes flashing amber and the snarl of his teeth not too human. Gabe froze in his steps, words caught in his throat as he quickly scanned Jesse over. No ears, fur or muzzle, and his nails were hidden in his fist. The amber didn’t fade away.

“How’re you feeling?” Gabe asked slowly in English, taking a small step toward him. Jesse shut his eyes, grunting in pain and gripping his hair. His nails were growing sharper and blacker.

“Not good, not good…” He leant against the wall with his prosthetic, hunching over and breathing too quickly. Gabe put a hand on his shoulder, only to recoil at the shifting bone and muscle under the thin shirt.

“Athena, call for an evacuation on this level and alert the strike team.” The voice that reached his ears was cold and unnatural, ready for the mission ahead. Athena replied overhead, but he paid her no attention; all focus was on McCree.

He stood in front of his agent and grabbed his shoulders, bringing him up eye-to-eye. McCree gripped back, long nails digging into Gabe’s muscle, as his face switched between pain, fear and a whole new being.

“McCree, focus on me. Hold on, resist it.” He ordered. McCree shook his head, hunching over again as the cracks of breaking bones echoed. His grip loosened so Gabe held him up, even as he shifted under his hands. “That is an order!”

“I can’t, it’s too loud, it’s too loud…” His voice weakened and his knees failed him as more bones broke and moved. Gabe went to pull him up again, only to have a half-formed muzzle snap at him and nearly take his nose off. The amber eyes were piercing right through him and growling hunger.

A glint of white down the hallway stirred Gabe out of his shock and he rushed away from the beast, leaving him to shift and snarl.

“Reinhardt! Get over here now!”

Reinhardt startled but followed dutifully, expressing his concerns.

“Reyes, didn’t you hear the evacuation order? We have to—”

His words died upon his lips at seeing the beast and he froze, watching the fur grow and the limbs bend into unnatural shapes. Gabe ran back over, pulling him up by the arm.

“Help me get him to the old bunker, quickly!” Reinhardt, straight to the punch, marched over and picked up the beast effortlessly, holding him tight as he struggled and howled.

Gabe, just as fast, ran down the hallway on a path remembered from the early days of the base, back when it had been a modified Crisis shelter, lined end to end with bunkers tough enough to hold off anything an Onmic could throw at it. It was their best choice if they were going to keep everyone else safe.

They skidded to a stop at the rusted vault door and Gabe wrenched it open with three turns of the lock. Reinhardt threw the beast into the wide open space and slammed the door shut again without so much as a blink. He spun the lock back into place as Gabe slid onto the floor.

A loud thud came from the other side of the door and he flinched.

His kid was gone.

 

**0XX0**

 

Gabe stayed with his back pressed against the door all night, listening to the distant sounds of the raging beast beyond the wall. Reinhardt sat with him for a while, until Torbjörn and Ana found them. He broke the news as well. Torbjörn cursed colourfully and went off to pace, while Ana… 

She allowed herself one sob and collected herself again, sending Reinhardt to find Jack and Genji. Once he was gone, she sat down next to Gabe and stared at the same mouldy patch on the ceiling that he did.

“Fareeha is landing soon, she…” 

“Don’t.”

She didn’t comment on his hoarse voice or the tremor of his trigger finger, nor did she place a hand on his shoulder to lie to him again. She left soon enough, and he was alone with the mould and the howls.

He wasn’t sure how long he was there before Morrison showed his face, holding out his shotguns with the silent order. They stared each other down, saying nothing in place of the usual arguments of the past year. The air still stung the same though.

After long enough, Morrison dropped the guns and ammo at Gabe’s feet, then stormed away. Just like any other day.

The real thunder came hours later, just before dawn when the bunker had quietened and Fareeha Amari waltzed in with a vigor and anger that would’ve made Horus himself cower away. Gabe came to a stand, shotgun forgotten in the moment. Ana rushed in after her daughter, shouting.

“—can’t go in there, it’s not Jesse anymore!”

Fareeha spun around with that same anger, turning it onto her mother. “You can’t honestly believe any of that bullshit! You, the mighty hero of Overwatch, murder them before they have a chance to defend themselves!”

“Fareeha Amari, I have fought these monsters since you were a toddler! I’ve seen what they do, what they really are. Once you are bitten, you are  _ gone _ .” Ana said in a low tone, striking her daughter down with her famous glare.

“I don’t believe it, and neither should you.” Fareeha matched her eye-to-eye, two sides of the same coin. 

Gabe reached out to her shoulder and put space between the two women. Fareeha turned her glare to him and he let her.

“’Reeha, you’re grieving— ”

“Screw you,” she spat, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, “he’d still have an arm if you hadn’t— ”

“Fareeha, don’t you dare talk to Gabriel like that!” Ana stepped up, only to be blocked by Gabe’s arm and tired eyes. She looked to him, motherly concern taking over her anger.

“She’s right, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” He said, voice straining to be heard over his panicking heart. “Take her back upstairs, I don’t want her to see— ”

The bunker door slammed shut and the lock turned back into place.

“ **_Fareeha_ ** !” Ana and Gabe rushed to the door, yanking at the handle as hard as they could. It was jammed from inside.

“Fareeha, open the door!” Ana pulled again as she shouted, louder and louder. “ _ Fareeha _ !”

Their shouting and banging quickly brought Reinhardt back to them and he pushed them aside to break past the jam and the lock, opening the door wide. Ana rushed in first with Gabe close behind, calling for Fareeha until they saw her.

In the middle of the rubble and nightly chaos, under the old fluorescent lights sat Fareeha, no worse for wear. And wrapped around her with its head buried in her lap was the wolf.

A overly large, muscular yet almost docile looking creature, with a thick pelt of familiar brown that Fareeha ran her hands through as she talked, nearly dwarfing her. There were no misshapen limbs, glowing eyes or cracked bones angled out of place against the skin; anything to indicate the human half. It was alive, as the slow wagging tail proved, and had a paw resting over her legs. Its other one was missing, all the way up to the joint.

“ …sorry I haven’t talked to you in forever. I read your messages, all the time you know. I still laugh about that Kermit you found in a safehouse ages ago.” Fareeha laughed, stroking around the pointed ears. The wolf, so unlike the ones they had shot and blown apart, leaned into her touch and whined like a lost puppy.

It opened its eyes and found them staring. Brown. 

Jesse.

Fareeha then saw them and stopped laughing, holding onto Jesse with a vice grip. Ana walked over to them while Gabe hung back with Reinhardt, who was watching with disbelieving eyes.

“Jesse…”  Ana sunk down to her knees and took his head into her too-small hands, ruffling the auburn around his eyes staring up at her. “It’s still you.”

Jesse whined and bumped his nose to her chest. A laugh bubbled out of her and she latched onto him, burying her face into the fur as she spoke in Arabic. Fareeha laughed as well, rubbing over his chest as if the wolf in him wouldn’t bite her head off without a second thought.

But it wasn’t the wolf, or a monster, or anything in between. It was Jesse, it was still him.

“Big guy,” Reinhardt answered with a wet sniffle. “Call Doctor Zieger, would ya? And grab tissues.”

Reinhardt left with more tears and Gabe looked on at the women fussing over Jesse, crying their relief that they hadn’t lost him. He walked over and crouched opposite Fareeha without a word, just watching and silencing every old argument his mind could come up with.

His kid was here, looking up at him with those soft browns that were far too comfortable in their current form. Gabe huffed and flicked his forehead.

“Always said you were a mutt, you goddamn ingrate.” Jesse shook his head and growled at him, actually pouting like it was thirteen years ago and they were in the interrogation room all over again. Gabe cracked a smile, which only made him pout more. 

“You owe me an apology too, for your shitty behaviour around your commanding officer.”

Jesse whined loudly and flopped his head down on Fareeha’s lap, covering his face with his paw. Ana laughed at the childish display, wiping tears away.

“I owe you one too, Uncle Gabi.” The younger Amari shied away from Gabe’s knowing stare, tucking her short hair behind her ears. “What I said out there… ”

“We’ll talk about it later, ‘Reeha.” He said, looking back down at Jesse curling under Ana’s scratches and teasing. “For now, we’ll be alright.”

He really believed it that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, what a ride! Can you find all the easter eggs I oh-so subtly snuck in there? Sorry this wasn't as long as promised; I had to cut out a few scenes in order to get this done before I go away on holiday next week. But no worries; next chapter is Hanzo's backstory plus a present day interlude. I'm also saving the scenes I cut out from this chapter for future ones dealing with the post-Recall plot. It's gonna be great character stuff, I promise.
> 
> Please let me know if there are any mistakes in this chapter; I was very tired and impatient by the time I got around to editing this, so some things may have slipped by me. Also: thanks to everyone who has left kudos, comments and bookmarked this fic already! It means to much to me and is a great motivator!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	4. Holding On For Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: I'm SO sorry this took as long as it did to get to you guys. I was held up by my beloved pet's death, then bed-ridden for 2 weeks with a virus and recently have been trying to juggle writing with my commission work to get by and be a real adult, but you have this chapter now and that's all that matters.
> 
> I did a load of research for this chapter and had to hold so much of it back to avoid too much info-dumping. All this info and prose has NOT been read over by a beta yet, so any mistakes are my own and will be fixed once they're caught.

_“Lore tells not of good or bad wolves, but of good or bad people.”_

 

Jesse McCree had never been a man to stop and smell the flowers - being on the run for as long as he had meant spending more time looking over his shoulder than the path ahead and racing from checkpoint to checkpoint in his crazy life - but he knew to appreciate a good view when he could, and good God on Earth there was never a more beautiful sight than the one before him right now.

While the entire cabin was surrounded by dense forest that the moon couldn’t break through most nights, there was a section of trees much shorter than the rest on the west side of the building where the bedroom was. Beyond the treetops were snow capped mountains tinged pink from the setting sun and a field of scattered clouds hovering on top, painting the sky from rich reds, oranges to purples that gave way to star-dotted navy over to the east. It was art brought to life and here he was, fortunate enough to see it all in its natural glory.

Jesse sighed contently, closing his eyes and drawing in a long breath through his nose. The scent of fresh burning was strong on the breeze flowing through from the kitchen’s back door, along with the scent of his unexpectant host that he could never seem to escape, no matter how far apart they were. Frankly, it was driving him crazy to have just one scent…everywhere; he wasn’t used to other people, much less this.

He opened his eyes and turned away from his private scenery, heading out to the outdoor fire pit he knew Hanzo lit up every night. He stood in the open doorway, back kept in the warmth of the kitchen as he faced the autumn chill and watched the other man tend to the growing fire. He was once again in his more ‘casual’ attire and sitting on a log as he poked at the embers with a stick, his wolf pelt beside him and staring right through Jesse with its beady yellow eyes. He shuddered and crossed his arms, looking away.

He had been under Hanzo’s care for a few days now (not including the two the wolf was in control), yet they had somehow managed to avoid each other in all that time. To Jesse’s credit, he’d been sleeping as instructed to ward off infection, brain injury and whatever else Hanzo’s books told him he could still get, so the avoiding wasn’t entirely his fault. The most time they had spent together so far was during the evening meals, but even those were spent in silence and catching skeptical stares from the other.

At best, their situation was uncomfortable and a little awkward. Jesse had mostly gotten over the whole near-drowning thing, but guilt seemed to follow Hanzo like his own shadow. It was a strange thing really; the moments would come and go in a wave of relief, only to relapse and the cycle continued. Jesse had seen the same process in himself before: The ghosts of repeated mistakes.

Regret.

He could only guess as to what such strong feelings could be connected to (the pelt gave him a few ideas), but he knew that a man’s past was his own to deal with, not a stranger’s to dig into recklessly. He couldn’t pry in what wasn’t his own (and his own was enough to deal with most tireless nights), so he turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Jesse looked back to the pelt and it went right through him once again. He kept his gaze level and began to wonder just what kind of shifter Hanzo was. His turning had been instantaneous, with a great burst of energy, so that left out any blood virus or medically induced shifting theories. That left a few options: inherited, magically turned, or cursed. Yet he didn’t fit into any one category: a pelt was carried by the magically turned to act as the second skin they could slip into, but he lacked the heavy stench of mystically infused blood that hung over them. A curse would explain the energy, but he wasn’t a feral inhuman creature with a wolf too wild to control. And, well, a lone wolf with an inherited shift? More impossible than him giving up Peacekeeper in this day and age of wolves sticking together no matter what (he was an outlier, of course).

But most of all, Hanzo was a damn enigma.

Jesse wanted to figure him out, solve mysteries about their kind, himself. Thanks to the good ol’ Overwatch, they were 92% extinct and all the data they had collected over the decades of wolf hunting had been blown up with the rest of the organisation. Not that all of it was pure facts; his own turning had debunked many closely held truths the veteran team believed and brought doubt to many more. But there were slivers of truth even in the darkest of lies and he knew he could’ve brought them up to the surface in time. Now all he had was what the wolf’s instincts and his teachers had drilled into him, which was hardly enough to understand himself.

It wouldn’t hurt to understand his caretaker a bit more too, even if it was short lived.

Hanzo must have noticed him staring because he turned around and raised a pointed eyebrow at him. Jesse cleared his throat and tipped his hat to him with an uneasy smile before walking over to the rising fire. He sat down on the log with little space left between them and arched his neck to watch the stars flicker above them as light fled the remains of the day to roll into the night. He looked back down to the fire and a gourd was in front of him.

“It’s mixed sake.” Hanzo explained, glancing at Jesse from the corner of his eye.

“Thanks.” Jesse took it and gulped down a mouthful, savouring the soft sting of foreign alcohol that he hadn’t tasted in years and letting out a sigh when it hit his gut. “Good stuff, but I prefer a lil’ bite to my liquor.”

Hanzo scoffed and drank the rest, throwing his head back and then settling himself. “Try a pure bottle before insulting my drink.”

“I don’t see ya offerin’ me one.”

“…They don’t sell it here, so keep quiet.” Jesse chuckled and relaxed back, crossing his legs and then his arms behind his head as Hanzo watched without moving.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’…” Jesse rolled his head to stare back at the other man, who was biting down on his cheek and pursing his lips, holding back words. “I’ve just been wonderin’, what kinda shifter are ya?”

Hanzo blinked and let go of his mouth, fiddling with his gourd before putting it down by his pelt and closing his eyes with a long breath. Jesse swallowed and shifted in his seat, about to change the subject—

“I’m sorry, but you must be at least a level 4 friend to unlock my tragic backstory.”

He blinked once, twice, and a third time as the gears in his head spun around and his mouth was left hanging. His eyes then widened and he bellowed out a roar of laughter that left him clutching his stomach. It quickly morphed into an ugly thing, as it always did when he went on too long and hard without a break. He coughed past the snorting and wheezing until he was gasping for breath.

Hanzo blinked as well, mouth open but voice failing him in the moment. “It…wasn’t _that_ funny.”

Jesse sucked in a lungful of air and sat up again, smiling wide as he wiped his eyes dry and placed his hat back onto its rightful perch. He looked over to Hanzo, who was now redder than the fire and still staring at him.

“I know, I know. I jus’…” He shook his head, getting the last giggle out. “I didn’ expect that from ya, it threw me off! It was so outta the blue an’ I haven’t heard somethin’ like that in **_months_ **.”

Hanzo’s face fell neutral and he clamped his mouth shut, quickly turning back towards the fire with a hand stroking the edges of his white beard. Jesse watched him as the flames flickered against his pale skin, the orange glow in his hair softening him beyond intention without losing any of the sharp wit that armed his tongue. That, mixed in with his unique aroma and apparent sense of humour, made Jesse consider himself very lucky to be in the company of such a handsome man.

Maybe (probably most definitely) it was creepy to think of his host in that way, but Jesse wasn’t blind and as long as he kept the thoughts to himself until he left Hanzo’s corner of the world, it was harmless. He was a grown man edging towards 40, not some hormonal teenager who couldn’t control himself; he could handle a few more days like this. Hell, he’d enjoy it as best as he could and take the company of an attractive werewolf like him as a blessing from the universe that had spat on him enough times in his life. Maybe in another life, he could’ve taken a chance.

But this was reality and he had to keep on the move, never stopping for too long no matter how much he wanted to stay. Like everyone else, he’d have to leave Hanzo and the only kindred soul he knew of behind lest they be hurt by him. For now, though, all was well. He could relax by the fire for the night without a worry.

A hand on his shoulder shocked him out of his stupor and Jesse went to grab it only to be blocked. Hanzo tutted his hand away as he spun around to face the archer.

“I’m going to get another drink. Do you want anything?” Hanzo asked, unaware of how the fire cast him in stark shadows and how the light sketched the arch of his nose, highlighting his high cheeks and the brown of his eyes, all with such precise detail that Jesse wasn’t sure if he was seeing things or not.

“Uh, ya got coffee?” He asked, focusing on the crease of Hanzo’s brow and furiously ignoring the wolf’s demands to move closer to inspect his scent. Damn traitor of common sense, trying to ruin him.

“I’ll have a look.” Jesse nodded to him as he disappeared into the kitchen, faint silhouette dancing on the glass of the window. He watched for a moment before sighing and turning back to the fire, feeling eyes boring into his back. The pelt’s eyes were elsewhere and there was no scent of wildlife close by, so he put it up to his paranoia rising from the dead.

They were both haunted, Jesse knew that much, but as he waited on the log with only himself for company, he couldn’t help but wonder what bloody ghosts were hanging onto Hanzo to drag him down below.

 

**0XX0**

_“Dangerous wolves are more a sign of human infidelity than of a wolf’s bad nature.”_

 

_Hanamura, 9 years ago._

In all of his years, and despite his best efforts, Genji had never really been able to sneak back into Hanamura castle without drawing attention. There had been admirable attempts (which only served to irk the elders more as he continuously refused to properly prioritise his intelligence), but with enough time and effort, others could learn his tricks and schemes to perfection. Hanzo, most of all.

That was how Hanzo found himself standing in the doorway, staring down his little brother, frozen mid-climb into his bedroom window in the middle of the night, staring back with wide, rightly terrified eyes. Neither Shimada made a move or sound across the barely lived in yet messy room, letting only the soft breeze and nightly creatures disturb the silence. Of course, Genji’s logic took this as the best moment to break first.

“Sooo, it’s a nice view from here.” He said, slurring words and paying no heed to the growing twitch of his brother’s left eye.

Hanzo didn’t reply to the drunken nonsense, opting instead to narrow his glare and cross his arms, the tattoo glowing faintly to reveal his bubbling anger. Genji, as usual, ignored that too.

“It’s pretty late and I’m sure you’ve got a load of stupid shit to do in the morning, like snitching to our father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former roommate about this scene.”

The eye twitched again and Hanzo grunted under his breath as Genji stumbled inside his room and collapsed onto his futon. The smell rolling off him alone made Hanzo swallow back bile, his brother’s total disrespect to their family aside.

“Unless you have something to lecture me about, **_bro_ ** , you can fuck off.”

Hanzo closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, going over all the inevitable outcomes of this conversation in his mind, none of them good for his blood pressure or the elders’ mood later tonight. Now was not the time for heated arguments and fighting, no matter how much Genji rightfully deserved every moment of it for everything from the last ten years. For everything he had done since Father died…

“It is almost three in the morning,” he said in a strained hushed tone, forcing Genji to pay attention through the fog of his current state. “And I have no desire to waste my time or breath on someone who so obviously doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Genji rolled his eyes and scoffed, turning over onto his side away from Hanzo. “Go suck a wrinkly dick.”

A painful throb pounded in Hanzo’s head. His frown deepened to a scowl and his nails dug into his skin. The tattoo glowed brighter, and this time, Genji noticed and opened his mouth.

“You haven’t been to see Father recently.” Hanzo said, far too calmly. “He should have a chance to see how big a disappointment you’ve become.”

He slammed the door shut in time to avoid the glass thrown at his head and hear it shatter as he locked the door behind him. The storm rumbled in his ears, drowning out any curses Genji threw his way and brewing hurricanes with lightning in his soul, the howls of his broken pack lost to the wail of a monsoon ready to wash them all away.

 

**0XX0**

 

By the next morning, Hanzo’s mood had only spiraled further downward and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. In his drunken antics the previous night, Genji had caused more trouble than ever before in his 25 years, and the consequences were already spreading like uncontrollable wildfire: In less than fifteen hours, Genji had taken a group of friends out to neighbouring cities to bar-hop and go to every drug-infested club still open, and had ended the night by destroying a long-arranged marriage engagement between a distant five-times removed (but highly connected) Yashida cousin and rival clan Tsurayaba’s young heir by sleeping with the groom, their cousin. No clan, even the Tsurayaba, would allow their heir to marry a man, no matter the network, after ‘coming out’ in such spectacular fashion this morning.

The Shimada elders had already drilled into him how important the engagement was to their advancement into the Tsurayaba clan’s docking piers for their own shipments and eventual assimilation of the family into the ranks, which in turn would intimidate their enemies into further agreements for territory rights that the Shimada would fully control.

This deal had been one of Sojiro’s last and now his youngest, more favoured son had ruined everything and Hanzo would be the one to shoulder the weight of repairing the damage, no matter how fruitless.

Dragged away from morning rituals at his family’s okami shrine into an emergency meeting, the elders let Hanzo know how furious they were.

“He is bringing this clan to ruin!”

“This shameful behaviour has cast doubt upon our power—”

“—the weaker clans have already begun to work with our enemies.”

“Something **must** be done.”

Hanzo said nothing, letting each relative speak their mind to the private room. Normally he would placate the elders with promises to reign Genji in and then redirect the conversation to more important and urgent matters, but this time he had gone too far. All his behaviour before, while deplorable and disgraceful, paled in comparison; never before had Genji humiliated and weakened his own family in such a way. In addition to those acts, it was all too clear now that there was no hope in controlling the young Shimada heir.

A new approach needed to be taken, as many of the elders agreed. So did Hanzo.

(He knew he should be so much angrier than he is; he would be if some small part of him hadn’t come to expect this from Genji, but for now he was the eye of a hurricane with the worst of the fury yet to come.)

Ideas were thrown around: diligent house arrest; cutting off funds; banishment to rural Cambodia; sending hitmen after him; letting another clan take him…

“Nonsense! How will Shimada gain any respect if we send the problem away, or allow anyone else to take care of him?”

“He must be dealt with permanently.”

“And it must be Shimada’s task.”

Eyes fell upon him, pressing their demands onto his shoulders without a word. They didn’t need to speak any more, Hanzo knew what he had to do.

 

**0XX0**

 

He ran.

He ran and he ran and he ran, all through the empty castle and through the empty courtyards until the blood ran dry and his knuckles turned white around his blade. Even when he stopped, he kept moving. Shuddering with every breath, heart racing and running his hand through his mangled hair only to remember and jolt away with a cry.

The tears hadn’t stopped since the weight of reality fell onto him, since he took a step back and saw the last breath leave Genji.

His baby brother was dead. Because of him.

_I killed him, I killed him, I killed him…_

The lifeless, bloodied body flashed on closed eyes and the silence in his mind peeked in at the corner of his crowded vision. Iwanko and Hachiko had left him long before the battle had ended, long after they had sunk their teeth into their pack. Because of him, they’d done that. Him, it had all been _him…_

His knees hit the ground and it was only the shock of his surroundings that kept him from falling back onto the hard wood. He was in the shrine room, in front of the extravagant kamidana, the symbols of his family’s ancestry staring down at him and the blood of fratricide staining him forevermore. The electric candles flickered and the ofuda fluttered without a breeze, hanging above the shintai mirror. Flowers and bowls of rice were laid out from that morning, but it all felt empty. Amongst the statues and heirlooms dedicated to the Shimada’s bond with the okami was the most revered of the symbols next to the shintai: the white wolf pelt, surrounded by old, well-treated armour. It sat on its perch, undisturbed since his great-grandmother’s hands had braided the fur and placed it there, and staring at him with glowing amber eyes.

Hanzo looked away from its piercing gaze, only to see the sword still in his grip. With a strangled gasp, he threw the blade far into the shadows, leaving a trail of wet blood after it and around the kamidana. The candles died out, leaving the eyes and distant lamps as the only lights washing out the scene in a warm glow, even if he felt nothing but a deep-seated chill seeping from his chest.

He bowed his head down and squeezed his eyes shut, throat aching but dry of fresh cries to give. He still felt the yellow gaze on him, growing stronger with righteous anger to strike him down as the kami pleased.

He deserved it and so much more for Genji’s pain.

“ _Shimada_.”

Hanzo snapped up onto his shaking feet, looking around in a daze. Nothing, no one was there. Who was speaking? He couldn’t recognise who the voice belonged to.

“ _Shimada Hanzo_.”

The voice vibrated through to his bones, deep and tenor all at once whispering at the corners of his mind instead of his ears. He looked around again, still finding himself alone and certain he was already insane. The amber eyes brightened and Hanzo felt his left arm spasm. His loyal spirits were pulled out to stand by the shrine statues, muzzles still smeared with the green of their sister mixed into their unearthly blue hue. Both had their heads ducked into their fur and tails between their legs, averting their master’s eyes. The long whines would have been enough to break his heart tenfold if it weren’t already shattered beyond repair.

“ _You have strayed far, young_ master _._ ”

Iwanko and Hachiko cowered away from the pelt, its eyes pulsing bright. Hanzo’s breath caught in his lungs for a moment, frozen under the intense glare of an invisible voice.

“D-Don’t call me that, don’t…” He ordered without conviction or strength, gripping his hair again even as it strangled him of his words and clan lies.

“ _You betrayed your only family!_ ” The voice rumbled, shaking him to the core as thunder would to a broken home. He closed his eyes once more and begged silently, please.

_I know, I know, I was there…_

“ _You do not_ know _the pain of losing pack; of going against the loyalty we stand for._ ”

He shook his head as the voice grew louder, taking over his every thought with its accusations and flashing Genji’s glassy eyes whenever he blinked away the new tears spilling out. Iwanko and Hachiko cried, shifting around on their paws and looking over their master with worry. His arm flared in agony and he held onto it, sparing a glance to the old tattoo. Blue was morphing into gold and detailed melted into abstract shapes, moving along his skin.

It burnt and he couldn’t scream.

“I do, I do…” It was all he could muster through the pain darting up his arm and through to his chest and face, skewering him too similarly. _I’m sorry, Genji. I’m so sorry. Come back, come back._

“ _You will_.”

His wolves howled as they were dragged back to him, claws scraping against the floor and leaving deep grooves. Their voices wailed in his head, drowning him out and begging as he did, even after they disappeared into his form. Then there was nothing but a cry and an immense burst of golden light.

 

**0XX0**

 

Hours had passed since the elder Shimada went after his brother and the sounds of battle had silenced, yet neither could be found except for their trails of blood splattered over the castle grounds and beyond.

The head of the clan had yet to return from his deed and the corpse of the pariah son was most missing. Panic flooded each elder as they planned on what to do next, gathering in the council room to speak as one and vote on their ultimate course of action. Much was said as the hours dragged on, whispers of Overwatch, Blackwatch, mutiny and conspiracy all jumbled together while patience dwindled and paranoia rose to surface. Suspicions ran high, trust far lower than ever before. It wouldn’t be long before a knife found a back; every cousin and uncle was ready to fight for their power.

More Shimada blood would spill before the end of the night, that much was certain.

A shadow fell upon the room from the doorway, eyes snapping to the figure now standing there shrouded in darkness and towering above them all. Focus turned to the unloaded bow hanging from their grip. Hands went to weapons as the lights in the hallway and council room flickered, flashing the white wolf head into view. Bead yellow eyes glanced over them, staring at nothing and no one.

The wolf rose, revealing a pair of different amber eyes underneath the pelt.

“Young master!”

Sighs of relief and curses rose up, hands edging away from the pistols and daggers. Hanzo didn’t move.

Yua, in virtue of being the closest, stepped forward first with Masuya close behind, bowing down and smiling uneasily at the young Shimada. Lights still flickered around him, casting him in shadows with only a glimpse of his rumpled garments, dirtied hands, and the feathered edges of arrows strapped to his back.

“Young master, we are so relieved to see you well!”

“We feared the worst when the body disappeared—”

A lightbulb blew out above them, spraying glass and sparks as Hanzo turned his head to them, amber eyes flashing a warning.

“ _Traitors_.”

“ _Uragirimono_.”

The voices echoed all over, whispering the words in English and Japanese in several voices, only one of them being Hanzo’s. His face twisted into a deep scowl as he glared at the elders, eyes flashing again. An eerie yellow glow lit up his face, forcing back any words the elders had to retort with.

Hanzo’s face, etched with dashes of blood both wet and dried, was surrounded by long strands of stark white hair under the pelt, and around his eyes were the glowing golden markings. The light spread, revealing torn clothes, shredded armour plating, and a bare left arm covered in a changed gold tattoo shaped in a form known to them only through legend:

The mark of a kami.

“Quick, get him—!”

An arrow pierced through Taishiro’s head before his gun could raise and in the blink of an eye, the Storm Bow was reloaded into the chaos.

A whirlwind of bullets, daggers, and arrows followed as the elders split apart, the more nimble and quick-footed racing after Hanzo as he took off deeper into the castle while the wiser ones made their escape into the dead of night with a perfect distraction ensuring their lives for a little bit longer. No one escaped the fury of the kami, afterall.

The chase, however, did not last long as Hanzo (or whatever was occupying him) was rushed into a corner and forced to stop as his pursuers caught up on him, aiming their weapons at every possible angle to kill him. The lights flickered again, leaving the gold marks shining in the dark against the wood and marble around him.

He turned to face them, no hint of hesitation in his new eyes yet no arrow on his bow. His glare went through them, pinning them in place. The whispers surrounded them, damning them all as Hanzo opened his mouth one last time.

“ _You will pay._ ”

The white wolf that emerged from the blast of light cut down their throats before any could cry out the markings it shared with the man who was no more.

 

**0XX0**

 

By the time he was back on his own two feet, a day had passed and Hanzo was hiding in the middle of a forest with nothing but his Storm Bow, arrows, and a light bag of possessions including the pelt and armour he had stolen. The blood stained clothes he’d been wearing before had been switched for a mismatched outfit he’d swiped and tossed to feed his first fire of the night; he wouldn’t miss them any more than he would miss a hole in the head.

He didn’t stick around the area any longer than he needed to, moving on to the nearest town for food and drink once the sun rose. He didn’t have much money on him, only enough for a couple meals and a one-way trip to Hokkaido in hopes of escaping this godforsaken island. It didn’t take an idiot to know that the remaining Shimada elders would be out for his head and naming a price no one could refuse. Considering their resources, he counted himself unbelievably lucky he had gotten this far.

He kept moving anyway, towards the northern coastline and focusing only on the moment. Moving through the motions, only stopping to remind himself how to breathe when he felt crushed. His mind filled with white noise that occasionally became mournful words whenever he stopped to rest his blistered feet in shoes three sizes too large for him (not that he could properly rest; if he closed his eyes or laid his head down, the bullets would tear apart his peace and Genji would follow, drenching him red).

Eyes were constantly on him and his unfitting clothes, white hair, tattoos, and stuffed duffel bag. He kept his head down and mouth shut all the way onto an overcrowded lower class hypertrain that didn’t ask questions between Hachinohe, Hokuto, and Sapporo, then straight into trouble.

The lack of sleep had turned him sluggish in the miles passing Mount Komagatake towards Yakumo, but not enough to ward off the terrors waiting to jump him in sleep. Only enough to not notice the two men following him through the passenger cars.

They grabbed him on the way to the bathroom during a late night fuel stop, pulling a garrote around his throat and punching him in the stomach a few times for good measure. Voices in his head yelled louder and louder as the air was choked out of him, cutting deep into his skin. He thrashed and kicked out, hitting nothing but hard fists and words promising swift punishment back in Hanamura.

For the briefest moment, that was all he wanted. It was more than he deserved after all.

But the voices - the wolves - reminded him that the okami hadn’t killed him first; who was he to give that justice to those who deserved it the least? He’d already dishonoured the kami enough.

Reinvigorated, Hanzo threw back his elbows into the grunt choking him, then slammed his heel onto the foot of the one in front of him dealing punches. With them momentarily dazed, Hanzo slipped out from their grip and shoved the first grunt into the wall (his name was Tomo; he had protected Genji from a hitman years ago and was a favourite of their father’s—)

_Get out!_

_Escape!_

_There are eyes everywhere._

“Shut up, both of you!” Hanzo hissed through his teeth as he rubbed his forehead, ignoring the twitch in his arm. Tomo came back at him with a knife and none of the fond memories Hanzo couldn’t get go of. He lunged and Hanzo ducked, pushing himself off the opposite wall to tackle him into the other (there was no name, but he was new and far too young). They all feel to the ground in a pile and Hanzo threw a blind punch. A jaw cracked loudly and Tomo fell limp. The younger man struggled under the weight, staring up at Hanzo with fresh fear and pleas for his life.

Hanzo took Tomo’s knife and stood up, keeping a foot pressed down on his body. He grabbed his long hair, still hastily tied back, and sliced it off at the base. He threw it down and then the knife into the nameless grunt’s ear.

To his credit, he didn’t scream.

“Tell your masters, I’m done.” Hanzo knelt down, narrowing his eyes into an icy glare as he leaned in to whisper. “If they want me dead, they should send someone competent.”

There was no response, and Hanzo didn’t stick around to hear one. He shook out his hair, not lamenting the loss, grabbed the bag and ran out of the train to the open night’s shadows where no one could follow him.

 

**0XX0**

 

What would normally be a two day trip via jet and hypertrain turned into a month-long fight to reach the Russian mainland and the ultimate escape into obscurity.

Getting to Wakkanai on foot depleted him of what little money he had left and almost starved him to death. He was much stronger than he’d ever been before, but his limits were reached before long. Avoiding new assassins meant avoiding people, which meant traveling the rural landscapes of Hokkaido with an eye over his shoulder at all times. If he had been tired before, he was dead on his feet now.

Utter exhaustion brought him to seek shelter in abandoned buildings on the outskirts of old farming villages. His blisters had burst times over, so he sacrificed the only shirt he had to bandage them up and soak the blood. His jacket would suffice him through the worst of the summer weather yet to come. Once autumn arrived, he would worry then. For now, he was grateful for anything he could take from turned away eyes, even if it wasn’t much.

Iwanko and Hachiko tried to talk to him when they could, whether it be when he laid down his aching legs to breath or during the more quiet moments whilst trekking over a mountain. While before it had brought him comfort and guidance to speak to his wolves, now it was only frustrating and daunting to him. Their voices were constant and without filter; their thoughts were his, and his were theirs. They talked to him, to each other, to themselves, and he heard _every word_ in the crowded space of his mind. He pleaded for the quiet he loved in his youth, when they came to him and spoke only when summoned outside the heat of battle. When he was their master.

They spoke kindly to him nonetheless, lulling him into short bursts of sleep for reasons unknown to him. He’d made them kill their sister, their only pack left. They should have left him to suffer alone.

He knew they blamed him, hated him for what he did. They whispered it in his less lucid hours, growled behind his ears and wished for anything to bring their little sister back to them.

 _Why did it have to be her?_ He asked himself the same as them, over and over. He went over the fight so many times, going over the thousands of ways things could have changed in a moment. He should’ve seen through the elders’ manipulating, he should’ve ran with Genji, he should’ve stopped his blade earlier, he should have, he should have…

Regrets haunted him every waking moment, and it wasn’t until he was traversing through southern Russia weeks later that Hachiko tried to pull him away from it.

_You are in deep pain, master. We hear you, we can feel it too._

He froze in the middle of tying up the hunting trap and sighed through his nose, too tired to fight back to argue. What was the point of it at this point anyway?

 _We are all grieving,_ Iwanko said quietly, _We all miss them._

Hanzo gave up on the trap building and sat down at the base of a large tree, pulling himself into a meditative pose and closing his eyes uncertainty. He hadn’t done this in months, and certainly not in stolen (but better fitting) attire with a hungry stomach to boot. At least he was alone out here in the woods, a perfect scene to go crazy and talk to yourself in.

‘Grieving’ wasn’t exactly the word he would use in this situation.

“What do you mean?” He asked quietly, losing his voice to the rustling leaves and chattering birds above him. It didn’t make a difference to his own mind.

_What you did…_

_We did._

_We lost our pack, because of you. You took away our sister._

_And you lost your brother too. We know your pain, better than ever before._

_Now you feel ours._

He hung his head, keeping his breath steady as they spoke, poking the embers of the pain seared deep into his chest. It was more than just a broken heart; his soul was aching too, from the pain they’d been carrying around all this time. He had never felt anything like this before.

It was another change to add to his growing list from that fateful night.

“What happened to us?” A direct question to all the mysteries that had been plaguing him for months. He only knew that he had been transformed in a way to pay for his crimes, giving him that strange shifting ability he hadn’t used since his skirmish with the elders. He was too afraid to try again, to lose what little humanity he had left. If there was any left at all. He doubted it.

That familiar twitch climbed up his arm again and he lifted his gaze find Iwanko and Hachiko standing before him, only… it wasn’t quite them.

The blue glow he had grown up alongside had faded into a snowy white, but the lightning gold of their eyes had only grown brighter. Pale yellow fur framed them, following the same pattern he had seen on his own face in the few glances of reflections he’d gotten from store windows and lonely rivers (along with his lack of wounds and an ungodly beard). They were more ghosts than the strong spirits he remembered, with their edges mostly transparent and barely-there lines resembling paws.

 _We were bonded at the soul,_ Iwanko answered, straight forward as always. _To be one and the same._

“But, we…” They already were, weren’t they? Being a Shimada meant being soul-bound to the okami spirit that presented itself to you in youth. They had a connection like no other, one beyond mortal explanation.

 _We were linked by heart and mind,_ he answered again, stepping closer to face Hanzo eye-to-eye. _What we are now is far deeper than we can imagine. Man and wolf, yet neither._

That, he understood and the rest clicked in for him. Sharing a body, sharing a soul; by lessening his pain, they lessened their own and the cycle repeated until the hurt began anew. He wondered what else he could learn about himself now, and by extension his wolves, in this new state of eternal imbalance. A kami’s punishment indeed.

Glancing to the abandoned trap, a spark of an idea rose its head, and his wolves dissipated into the air. A foreign warmth spread in his chest as he stood up, exhaling slowly; he was ready this time.

‘ _Show me how to be like you_.’

 

**0XX0**

 

He kept on the move, sometimes on two feet and other times on four paws. Learning of his secondary form had granted him easier meals and more energy than he knew what to do with, as well as a faster way to travel the wilderness towards the west. Meanwhile, on two legs, he tidied himself up, took to wearing the stolen armour and pelt rather than scraps, and to sleeping whether he could most nights (maybe at a motel if he could risk it).

He stuck to the underbelly of civilisation, using every lesson he’d ever been taught to hide his identity and take on well-paying jobs for the morally corrupt. An arrow through the head of someone who deserved it through and through was something he could do easily and without remorse. One less villain for the world to endure.

His strange appearance and gear earned him rumours throughout the ‘industry’ and he worried without end if each new one would reach Hanamura despite all the cautionary measures he took with each step. However, he knew that no matter what there would always be someone after him, whether they were assassins or business rivals. He knew he’d get used to it, eventually.

All thoughts of pursuers left him when he was reminded one afternoon in Kazakhstan that April would be upon them soon enough, and then a few short weeks would be Children’s Day, the anniversary of Genji’s death.

 _We should pay our respects,_ Hachiko suggested through a drunken haze.

Going back to Hanamura was certain death. It would be a waste of the past year to return, so what was the point?

 _If we don’t, then who will?_ Iwanko reminded him, and before he could talk himself out of it he was back out in the east, stowing away on a cargo ship to get across the Russian waters and onto his home island in the best disguise he could muster up.

Hanamura hadn’t changed at all. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, townsfolk walked the streets like the past year had never happened, and there were still eyes in every corner to watch them. The castle, on the other hand, was nothing like he remembered it.

The suits he had knocked out on his way in were guarding four torn walls and a battlefield, taken apart more recently than he had left. Hanzo briefly wondered if Overwatch finally acted upon their threat to dismantle the clan, but he knew a single attack on the castle wouldn’t be enough. The presence of guards was proof enough that the elders were still operating good business without interruption.

Even disturbed, there were still some things that stayed the same. The sliced kakejiku stained with blood still hung, and his old blade was gathering dust in the corner of the kamidana room. Hesitantly, he cleaned the blade and collected its saya, then placed them on their mount under the kakejiku. He didn’t have much else with him but a sparrow feather he had found on his journey, which wasn’t the best setting for paying respects, but he refused to let it pull him down; he had enough to feel guilty for tonight.

An okami without a suzume. The tales of old made the loss even more tragic.

Hanzo returned year after year, reigniting the hunt and surviving each assassin that tracked him down to whatever corner of the world he was hiding in. Peace evaded him time and time again, but he could breathe on his own again, walk forward without having to remind himself how to move away from the pain. It was still there, always reminding him of what he had done to deserve this life and he accepted it. That was all he could do.

Years passed by faster than he could count, a trail of bodies and safe houses between jobs leading to places he had already fled. Iwanko and Hachiko were constant, anchoring him to his journey and pulling him away from the worst of his stray thoughts. They couldn’t rid him of the guilt (not that he wanted them to) but they were there and that was enough to keep him going.

He mused on it while renovating an abandoned hunting cabin in eastern Slovakia, overlooking miles of green forest and mountain ranges. It wasn’t perfect - far from it - but it was his life; he’d do with it what he could as both man and beast.

 

**0XX0**

_“No animal is as frightening as the wolf is.”_

 

Jesse perked up when the faint scent of tea crossed his nose and he sat up with eyes trained on the cabin door. Hanzo came out a moment later carrying two steaming mugs over to their seats. Jesse sniffed the air, frowning at the lack of coffee beans, but took the mug when Hanzo put it in his waiting hands.

He peered down at the mug and inhaled deeply. The green tea smelt of familiar leaves and dashes of sugar but he couldn’t put a name to the flavour. Either way, it wasn’t what he’d asked for.

“No coffee then?” He asked, ringing the mug in his cold hands. Hanzo sat down again, much closer this time and took a long sip from his own tea. He smiled.

“I looked and experienced an epiphany,” he answered, sitting back against the log, “Caffeine is extremely toxic to us, so I made us decaffeinated tea instead.”

Huh.

Jesse blinked and pursed his lips slowly. How about that…? That explained some things, many things actually. He was a man who survived on a cup of coffee most mornings and enjoyed chai lattes whenever he had the money at a corner cafe. The past few years had brought him annoying cramps after a few cups, but he’d always put that to his body not being used to it after 15 years of Blackwatch regulated diets with just one cup of coffee a week.

He was actually poisoning himself. Whoops.

There was probably a hell of a lot more he was hurting himself with now that he thought about it. What else were dogs sensitive to? Chocolate, obviously. Good thing he didn’t like the stuff too much these days. He’d heard of grapes being dangerous, as well as other fruits. He was sure there were far more than that, but he couldn’t recall. He could ask Hanzo later and clear things up.

“You didn’ have decaf coffee?” He asked in his stupor before sipping the tea. The strong flavour rolled over his tongue, a balanced mix of sweet and bitter that kicked at his deja vu hard. Nevertheless, it was delicious and he gulped down a mouthful.

Hanzo shook his head, staring into the fire as he curled his legs underneath himself. “I’m fresh out. Tea is healthier for you anyway.”

Jesse scoffed loudly, hiding his amused smile behind another sip. “Whatever ya say, doc.”

Hanzo shot him a dirty look but said no more, concentrating on finishing his tea and watching the fire flicker its warmth. Jesse stretched his legs out, popping his ankles, and turned his head to the sky, now dark with blinking stars in a picturesque view. He closed his eyes and, just for the briefest moment, he was 19 and on his first international mission with Gabe and Ana in the middle of Israel. Back to good times.

Something prodded at his shoulder and a low whine rattled his ear joined by a woman’s soft voice.

_You’ll drop your tea, cub._

“No I won’t, don’ worry ‘bout it, Pu—”

He opened his eyes. Ol’ green Pup wasn’t staring back at him.

A ghostly white wolf much larger and more transparent than Genji’s faithful companion sat on the log beside him, amber eyes looking at him with her tongue hanging out and head tilted to the side. There were faint markings around her eyes, just like—

Jesse spun around to see Hanzo sitting back, relaxed, with another white wolf curled up on his lap This one stared at him too, but with harder edges and a glint in those yellow eyes that gave away nothing positive in his thoughts. They were both wisps on the air, as if a single touch would turn them into formless smoke, but Hanzo was raking his fingers through the thick fur around the wolf’s neck.

They looked just like Pup.

Genji was the only one in the world with such a companion.

Yet…

_“You heard the report, he’s as good as dead. Calm down, bitte.”_

_“No, no, he’s alive! Shimadas don’t just drop like flies out of nowhere, especially one like my_ **_murderer_ ** _!”_

_“Genji, Jefe had the bodies ID’d—”_

_“Not his! I don’t care about reports, I won’t stop until I find that bastard.”_

The Shimada were gone, left to rot in the dust after Overwatch’s dismantling of the clan not too many years ago. Apart from Genji, the only possible surviving Shimada would be…

Jesse bolted to his feet and almost fell over, quickly steadying himself and pulling his hand away from where Peacekeeper usually sat (why wasn’t he armed, he should be armed!). Hanzo noticed.

“Are you alright? What—” He caught sight of the wolf peering around Jesse’s legs and he sighed heavily, rolling his eyes in unison with the wolf on his lap. “I apologise, I hadn’t thought of how their appearance would affect you. This is Iwanko and Hachiko, my… companions.”

Jesse’s mouth opened and closed several times in perfect imitation of a fish and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to blink away the newcomers into non-existence. But they stayed, so he settled on shaking his head and clearing his too-dry throat.

“N-No, they jus’ spooked me a lil’, that’s all!” He knew his voice was too high-pitched to be convincing, and now he was having trouble breathing and his hands were shaking.

“Do you need to lie down?” Hanzo asked carefully, adjusting his position to get up despite canine protest. “You sound… panicked.”

Jesse nodded and shooed him away, quickly forgetting his drink and averting Hanzo’s worried expression. He retreated into the cabin as fast as his feet would take him and before he could let anything else slip.

Once he was in the main room again, he dropped onto the couch and buried his head into his hands, breathing heavy and shoulders hunched over to hold back the urge to scream. In and out slowly, just like Ana taught him. In and out, in and out.

The moment passed soon enough and he recollected his thoughts from the past twenty minutes.

Shimada Hanzo. Genji’s older brother, his murderer. A yakuza crime lord reported dead eight years ago even if only a few important people believed it.

There was no way this was real. It had to be a coincidence. The world wasn’t that small, after all.

But the facts stood bold and unwavering in front of him. No one else on Earth had those spirit companions except a Shimada. Other than Genji, that only left his brother.

His murdering, criminal, amoral brother who saved his life and made him laugh. A wolf just like him.

If inner-conflict didn’t have a picture in the dictionary before, it sure did now and it was his hopeless mugshot.

Jesse ran his hands through his hair and sat back against the couch cushions, forcing himself to relax. Maybe he could work around this, go back to an hour ago when everything was fine and he wasn’t sharing jokes with his best friend’s killer. Forget everything for that peace.

But he couldn’t. Years of watching Genji suffer, the extensive damage, his unnatural body; all because of the person sitting just thirty feet away from him right now. A horrific crime committed and how had the guilty paid for it after nine years? Hiding away in the middle of nowhere with a death certificate guaranteeing his anonymity for the rest of his life.

That wasn’t justice.

He knew what he had to do.

Light on his feet and instincts at the ready, Jesse grabbed his few possessions and packed them up. Hat secured on his head and serape over his shoulders, he checked out the window one last time and then ran out of the front door without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go read this study for a quick rundown on Japanese wolf folklore; it's a great read and very educational: http://nirc.nanzan-u.ac.jp/nfile/274
> 
> I'm also pleased to see so many other werewolf AUs being written! I'm not able to read any (I don't want to be accused of stealing ideas, sorry) but I'm so happy to see them growing and getting popular! I hope y'all enjoy them too.
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	5. Cold To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read the notes at the end of this chapter. I'm running an important poll about the next few chapters and need all the input I can get!
> 
> Sorry this took longer than I promised, I've been caught up in commission work and applications to McHanzo zines, but I hate to keep you waiting, so here you go. (This hasn't been edited or seen by a beta, so all mistakes are mine!)

With a jar of Pomidorowa in one hand and a tin of Merblinski in the other, Jesse cursed himself for not learning any Polish ten years ago along with the Arabic, French, Russian, and Japanese Jefe had pushed onto him for training purposes. Sure, he could only remember the most basic phrases these days, but he knew he would’ve remembered which food items to buy to make a damn meal for himself.

Going to Poland was a mistake. Sticking around for nearly three weeks was an even bigger one because now he was hungry and distracted from the real mission on hand.

He had left Hanzo and the cabin behind with every intention to get in touch with Genji and tell him everything about the last couple of weeks. Let him come to his brother’s hiding place and do as he wished to the man that had ruined his life. From what Jesse remembered, it wouldn’t be anything quick or painless.

But it had to be done, for Genji’s sake.

If only he hadn’t dropped his communicator somewhere along the way out of Slovakia. 

Now here he was in Bielsko-Biala, scavenging the shelves of an old corner store for something he recognised and trying to make a plan to find the damn thing. His whole life was practically on it and now it was lost in the open for anyone to find, goddammit why hadn’t he been more careful?

Jesse let out a long sigh, put the food items back on their shelves and adjusted his worn-out cap. It didn’t offer him the security that his stetson did, but the last thing he needed was to stand out; the hat was a giant neon sign saying “$60,000,000 bounty right here!”. For all anyone knew, he was an average, lost American tourist and he was dressed for the part. It was downright depressing.

Before he could go grab an employee that spoke enough English or maybe Spanish, a certain scent brushed under his nose and he froze.

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the other customers walking around him. Not a lock of white hair anywhere, but the scent grew stronger until it had sidled right up to his side, dominating all his senses.

“Were you trying to tell the difference between ham and tomato sauce?”

To his credit, Jesse didn’t yelp and bolt out of his skin. He did, however, jump back from the man suddenly beside him scrutinising the products on the shelves.

Hanzo Shimada was standing beside him in a Polish corner store, dressed like any other tourist with his hooded gilet, long-sleeved t-shirt, and sunglasses hiding his more unique characteristics from prying eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary in this late May weather, but that didn’t stop more curious patrons from staring at them. 

“You left in quite a hurry last night. I thought you wanted to stay for breakfast after all the fun we had.” Hanzo said much louder than necessary just as Jesse was about to glare at the eavesdroppers. They all scurried away, giving the two ample space as Jesse felt his ears burn red. 

The  _ asshole _ .

He would be tempted to suckerpunch him if not for the fact that they’d been left alone to talk (but not enough that they could really argue or let things get out of hand. Bastard was smart, Jesse had to give him that). Shimada carried on looking at the food like he hadn’t just spouted all sorts of lies. Typical.

“What do ya want?” He asked quietly, staring at the wall and nothing else. Shimada rolled his shoulders and picked up a can of something he couldn’t read the label of, turning it over in his hand.

“A couple of things.” He answered in a clipped voice that didn’t match his neutral expression at all. Jesse raised an eyebrow, frown deepening. “You left your communicator by the fireplace, Agent McCree.”

Oh shit. 

His communicator with the default Overwatch insignia on the lock screen that he could never change, found by the one person he least wanted to see it, and now he  _ knew _ .

“And I wanted to know if you have somewhere to go for the full moon this week.”

Jesse blinked and licked his lips, words fumbling in his mind. That hadn’t been something he’d expected from Shimada at a time like this. It was also something he’d not given much thought to and it made the wolf under his skin itch to break out. His current bare bones plan was to hide out in the national park south of this city until he regained control and could carry out his not-yet-thought-out idea to get his communicator back to call Genji out to the middle of Europe.

“Sure I do.” He answered as nonchalantly as possible. He was a good undercover agent for a reason, but even he felt his thoughts were unsafe under Shimada’s mere presence. 

“Is it safe?” He kept checking the different branded tins and jars on the shelf, paying Jesse no mind aside from brushing arms to keep up the facade of bickering lovebirds.

“As safe as open forest can be.” Jesse shoved his hands into his pockets, holding back a shudder. Oh, how badly he wanted to just run out and never look back. But McCree was no cowardly kid, and certainly not the type of man to just run from difficult situations. He’d ran from the cabin to call Genji, that was all. He was sure.

“With no one looking out for you? Very dangerous.”

Jesse sighed and finally looked down at Shimada, narrowing his eyes when he found him already boring a hole into his head. “How’d you find me?”

“I didn’t, Hachiko did.” He smiled softly, dragging his sunglasses down enough that Jesse caught the glint of amber in his eyes. “She worried over you like she would her own puppy.”

“Huh, haven’ heard of Shimada wolves actin’ like that.” Jesse chuckled to himself at catching the other man off-guard, smiling smugly as he quickly glanced around the aisle.

“So that’s why you left.” Shimada glared at him, lips pulled down in a thin line. Jesse nodded, shifting around on his feet and hoping for a way out soon.

“Ain’t like I got anyone t’ report ya to anymore, Shimada.”

“Would you keep it down?” He demanded, voice lowering and all calm demeanor going out the window. Jesse crossed his arms, raising his eyebrow at him again. “Assassins could be anywhere, picking up on the smallest of clues to hunt me down. They’ll kill you just for acknowledging my existence.”

“I’ve survived worse.” He shrugged, adjusting his cap with his prosthetic arm just to further the point. Shimada shook his head and muttered under his breath in Japanese.

“That’s beside the point.” He collected himself and turned to face Jesse fully, pushing his sunglasses onto his forehead to reveal dark circles under his eyes and a tired glare. Jesse took a half-hearted type of glee from knowing he wasn’t the only one losing sleep under the growing moon. 

“I just needed to know if the locals would be safe from you, and vice versa.” Shimada continued, the exhaustion carrying onto his breath. He turned away, closing his eyes. “Your communicator is back at the cabin, if you need it back. I…”

Jesse watched as the words caught in his throat and he opened his mouth a few times before visibly giving up on them.

“An’ what?” He asked against his better nature. So much for escaping.

“I… I wanted to ask you something, about your old work, but it is nothing urgent.” Shimada straightened his back and pulled the sunglasses down, covering his eyes again. “You remember my schedule, you and your outrageous bounty don’t have to see me again.”

Bounty? Goddammit.

Jesse snapped out his arm to grab Shimada’s wrist before he could move out of his reach. His amber eyes flashed between his hand and his face, eyebrows rising above the sunglasses. Jesse kept close, tone hushed and biting down as the hairs on his neck and arms bristled from the scent drowning him.

“I know ya got connections, Shimada; enough to get that bounty an’ more from whoever you send me to. But I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a bad idea.” 

The threat was evident but it didn’t phase the crime lord. He blinked once and then pried Jesse’s hand off him with a strength found in no normal man. He fixed the sleeve and stared Jesse down, who glared back.

“I’m not a good person, McCree, but I wouldn’t turn in a fellow wolf in for the highest reward.” Jesse’s eye twitched but he refused to soften, even if Shimada backed down. He wouldn’t lose. “You’re the first one I’ve met who wasn’t a mad half-beast looking for land… the first I’ve been able to have an actual conversation with.”

The tension holding his glare together flowed out of him all at once as the pieces fitted together in his mind. Loneliness made even the strongest men desperate. He knew, because he was one, and now he was staring at a man with no empire left to claim. A pair without a home or family to return to except for the holes dug in the empty roads of their endless journeys of whatever life handed them.

Now their paths had met and he had a chance to spend the nights with someone at his back instead of the suffocating silence, even if it wasn’t for long.

The reasonable parts of him reminded him that someone almost killed his best friend, deserved every bit of justice he could serve, not his company or anything kind. But he was only human and his heart ached for understanding, even if it came from someone like Shimada.

Jesse cleared his throat and let out a shaky breath, looking around the store one last time before walking off past his confused company.

“I’ll come with ya, darlin’.” He said, loudly enough to be impolite and catch attention. “But ya better make up for that tiny dick o’ yers!”

No one said he couldn’t be a little petty along the way.

 

**0XX0**

 

Even with the detours to collect their light luggage, grab food and drink, and then change into more comfortable gear, it only took them a little over two hours to get out of Bielsko-Biała and into the middle of Polish-nowhere. Hanzo counted himself lucky that McCree was co-operating so far; the tension was unbearably high, not helped by the barbs the cowboy was throwing his way when the mood struck him. Hanzo didn’t amuse him with any response, far too tired to dredge up any long-awaited arguments about their lies.

Opening that old communicator had been…eye-opening, to say the least. 

He’d spent the first day afterwards circling his small territory, taking out possible traps, cameras or whatever could lead McCree back to the cabin. Once the initial panic had settled into a cold paranoia, he took the communicator apart and disconnected the GPS components from any power sources. There wasn’t much he could do if it’d already been tracked, but he had to take every precaution to avoid being found. The cabin had become a second home to him and he was loathe to leave it for somewhere else, like the safe house in Sri Lanka, or the old bunker to Cairo.

It wasn’t until the third day the thought came to him that the Overwatch agent had been scared off by his spirits and left the communicator behind in his haste. Scared because he’d been living with the Shimada heir and found out in the worst way.

How ironic that he’d saved the life and cared for a member of the organisation that dismantled his family and left him empty-handed for the rest of his days. Not that he’d want them loaded again. Not after everything that he had done with them, every mistake he had defended until it was too late. Then it was just him, himself and his constant companions. 

Until McCree. 

For a week, the cabin had been full. They hadn’t spent much time together outside of meals and those moments were as awkward and tense as moments between a pair of total strangers could be, but he was satisfied. To have another person - a fellow wolf no less - sharing his space in the quiet had served to remind him how starving the outside silence was. Iwanko and Hachiko, as loyal and close as they were, could only do so much to keep him company.

Then McCree ran and Hanzo had been thrown off the cliff to the deep waters once more, completely unprepared to return to what he considered normality. It probably wasn’t anymore; probably never could be again. 

Following Hachiko’s worries (that did nothing but add to his own about the full moon) up north to the border for a fortnight, tracking McCree had only been a matter of letting the spirits follow the erratic trail, looking up the man to discover his generous bounty and whether or not someone else was on his trail, and then blending into the crowd of tourists in the city they were sure he was hiding in. 

There was certainly some truth in the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’, because despite having the other wolf at his side again, whatever camaraderie they were building before derailed back to square zero, and McCree had taken to humming ancient country songs loud enough to bother him on a personal level.

“My daddy warned me about men like you; he said,  _ ‘Baby girl, he's playing you, he's playing you… ‘cause when trouble comes in town and men like me come around _ ’, oh my daddy said shoot.”

Now it was outright singing.

_ Please shut him up _ , Hachiko whined, regretting her choices more and more with every passing moment.

_ No, no! He’s wonderful, let him finish, _ Iwanko laughed. They began a new round of bickering and Hanzo groaned, feeling the headache coming on strong already.

A bump to Hanzo’s shoulder brought his attention to McCree, who was smiling too innocently to be genuine and was humming again. He shot him an irritated glare and the bastard had the gall to  **chuckle** .

“Somethin’ on yer mind, Shimada?”

Two things, he didn’t say but rather thought very loudly. Echoes of ‘ _ sorry, master’  _ went through his mind but the headache remained. The source was still hovering over him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are extremely petty?” Hanzo asked, narrowing his glare to McCree’s forehead. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he could rewind to three weeks ago when things had been getting better between them and they could be nothing more than two wolves in rare company rather than the Shimada and the agent-turned-outlaw they were now.

“Naw, I hate t’ make a habit outta it. It ain’t my style.” McCree smirked, rolling his shoulders and chewing on the end of an unlit cigarillo that was sure to haunt the dreams of a past Hanzo that still cared for McCree’s health. 

“Then what do you call this?” He asked, gesturing to all of the cowboy.

“A damn special occasion.” 

Hanzo bit down on a loud groan and turned away, picking up his pace. He felt McCree quickly join him, brushing shoulders without a word and for a moment he could bask in the sensation it brought that he never thought a person could miss so much.

He was a damned, desperate fool. 

(Maybe McCree was too, if his willingness to travel together despite the mutual animosity was anything to go by.)

He looked to the other man, watching his smirk fall to the tired lines all over his face. The cigarillo was lit up and the smoke rose up, filling the air around them. Despite himself, Hanzo took a deep breath and calm took over his mind. 

_ You need to tell him that’s more dangerous for him than it is for humans _ , Hachiko said quietly, almost losing herself to the footfall.

_ ‘I am not his keeper’ _ , Hanzo thought and Hachiko backed away to a corner. ‘ _ Besides, his metabolism will take care of the worst side effects _ .’

_ Now you are defending him _ , Iwanko’s smile broke through the words as it did when he teased,  _ How inconsistent you are in your judgements, master. _

‘ _ Not everyone can be like  _ you.’ Hanzo sighed and tightened his grip on his bow case. Focus on the road ahead, they still had many miles to go until they were safe. At this rate, they wouldn’t get back to the cabin until after the full moon and he would have to keep track of a moon-hungry wolf in a forest he didn’t know.

“Shimada?”

His back straightened and his shoulders tensed at the name, and he forced himself to relax instead of thinking on the memories his tainted name brought to the surface. He looked to McCree again, then up at the skyline where he was pointing.

“Sun’s gonna set in a couple hours an’ I don’t know ‘bout you, but I don’t wanna amble ‘round unfamiliar parts in the dark.”

Hanzo hummed and scanned over the surrounding area. They could make it to the edge of the thick woodland before then and try to set up camp without being spotted by park security, though traveling for an extra hour as they lost light would improve their chances, as well as possibly turn them in the wrong direction. Unless… 

“If we shift, we won’t have to worry about that, and we can move faster as well.” 

He moved away from McCree to concentrate, turning away to give him some semblance of privacy, then started to center himself. Iwanko and Hachiko went silent, pulling their energies together.

“Are ya kiddin’ me, Shimada?”

Hanzo spun around to face McCree again, glaring and about to ask why he was being such an idiot.

“Full moon’s only a couple days away, I can’t shift now!” 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

McCree stumbled over his words for a moment before clamping his mouth shut and waving his hands in the air. Hanzo kept glaring, waiting for some insane explanation. McCree stopped his hands and let out a breath, setting his mouth into a thin line.

“Look, it’s been hard enough t’day to control the damn wolf, but if I shift now? That all goes out the window and it takes over, doing as it pleases as long as it likes.” McCree took a long drag from his cigarillo, then squished it against his metal palm and gave Hanzo a look he was sure was meant to read as pleading, but all he looked was exhausted. Constantly controlling yourself like that would take a toll on any man.

Hanzo had only the barest idea of what that felt like. His curse was in his soul, not his blood. He was drawn to the full moon like most creatures of their unnatural type, but it held no power over him beyond a distinct hunger only it could fill. It certainly didn’t have the power to force him to change forms and turn him into a ravenous beast for a night. But there was an aspect he  **did** know that escaped McCree: understanding your other half.

No wonder he had so little control and such painful, drawn out shiftings. The man was afraid of the wolf he’d become; to see himself for what he truly was.

“Then how do you propose we move faster?” Hanzo crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow to the flummoxed cowboy. He bit his lip and worked his tongue over it, not that Hanzo was watching at all.

“How much weight can ya carry?” McCree asked, smiling widely. It would be endearing if the idea didn’t horrify Hanzo to the core.

“No.”

“Ya didn’t even hear my idea.”

“I’m not carrying you 70 miles across a border and timezones.”

McCree visibly startled and shook his head hard enough that his hat almost fell off. “I don’t need my dead ass carried that far, Shimada!”

His back straightened, his shoulders set and the hair under the pelt bristled fully alert. Iwanko and Hachiko snarled loud enough to deafen him to a flatline. “Stop calling me that!”

Familiar energy burned behind his eyes and McCree took a step back, holding his hands up and watching him warily. Hanzo bit back his next words and breathed back his focus hard enough to ache his chest. The burning faded away and his spirits quietened. McCree watched.

“I do not need you to constantly remind me who I am.” _ What I’ve done, what I’ve become _ . “You’ve made it clear how you feel about me, wolf or not, so  **drop it** .”

McCree stared at him wide-eyed, an array of emotions flashing across his features in few seconds. Surprise moved to confusion, to irritation, and then to the smugness he had been familiarising himself with today. McCree’s shoulders shook and he put his thumbs through his belt hoops, stepping forward to face Hanzo head on.

“I ain’t doin’ it for my own amusement, or whatever motive you’ve cooked up.” He stopped with barely a foot of pace between them and Hanzo held his ground. “It’s the very least of what y’ deserve.”

Hanzo blinked, craning his neck to meet him in the eye. “‘What I deserve’?”

“Damn straight.” McCree’s brow furrowed and his scowl returned. “I know better than most people exactly what y’ did to Genji! You’ve done nothin’ but hide out ‘ere for nine years with no consequence and he… He’s one o’ my best friends ‘n’ I had t’ watch ‘im…!”

McCree swallowed and moved away, taking off his hat to run his organic fingers through his hair. Hanzo didn’t take note of his rushed breathing, Spanish mutterings or even his complete disregard for Genji’s memory.

The elders had been right.

“What?” 

“The elders, they…” Hanzo whispered, throat dry as the desert and mind racing faster than a whirlwind with everything he’d said in the elders’ last moments. “They accused him of betraying the clan to Overwatch, a-and I defended him but they were right, t-this whole time…”

_ We were wrong. _

_ He betrayed us! _

_ No, he wouldn’t! He wouldn’t have turned on us like that! _

_ We never knew our own brother. _

He couldn’t feel his legs. The world was spinning around him. Iwanko and Hachiko called out to him. He couldn’t hear them anymore, or anything but the buzzing and dull words being thrown over him. Hands were on his shoulders (or were they?) and he felt the ground settle beneath him with something at his back. 

He stayed there in the quiet.

 

**0XX0**

 

Jesse sat himself down on the other side of the tree and groaned. Good God, he was an idiot. 

He shouldn’t have gotten so caught up in his own emotions over the whole ordeal, or riled up Shimada so much that their spat spiralled out of control. He was a dick and paying for it by giving his companion a goddamn panic attack when they’d been trying to speed their journey along. The sparse edge of the forest here wasn’t the worst place to set up camp, but it was far from ideal to hide from prying assassin or bounty hunter eyes. It would have to make due for tonight.

He thanked all of his lucky stars that he hadn’t blurted out the truth about Genji and that Shimada hadn’t caught on. That would’ve been a dozen different shades of ugly and not something he ever wanted to deal with. Besides, he couldn’t take that away from his friend; not like this. No, this… this had to be between the two of them to sort out their issues. Jesse had just gotten caught up in it by accident.

He quickly checked on Shimada (he was curled up and breathing shakily, but seemed calmer) before making himself comfortable and diving back into his musings.

Did he have the right to drop all this on Genji? All these years the younger Shimada had been searching for any clue that would lead him to his revenge, yet had found nothing but dead ends and old reports of the supposedly deceased. And here Jesse came, coming upon Hanzo by chance and about to undo all the effort Genji had put into his personal quest. He knew Genji well; would he turn on him for taking over what was rightfully his? Could he turn Hanzo over to the slaughter after he’d made a point of not taking Jesse in for the bounty?

On top of all that, he’d ruined a perfectly good hypothetical partnership before it even had a chance to take off. Jefe was probably rolling in his grave at how stupid his agent was being.

“Shit.” Jesse grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. He was so tired, but he needed to fix this. He needed this, even if it was so wrong.

There was rustling from the other side of the tree and Jesse sat up, peering around. Shimada was uncurling himself and taking the pelt off his head. His breathing was shallow and still shaking, but more stable than earlier. He watched carefully, rolling his words around his mouth.

“Y’know, he didn’ reach out to us,” he started, leaving out what he really wanted to say ( _ he never betrayed you, y’all betrayed  _ **_him_ ** ), “Blackwatch went to him, loosened ‘im up and we got friendly. He…”

_ Pick your words carefully, McCree, _ Ana’s voice reminded him.  _ A lie is a terrible weapon without a touch of the truth _ . 

“I remember, he was a good kid. Had issues, but… Heh, who doesn’t, right?” He laughed but it was hollow and he was sure Shimada knew without looking.

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet but full, barely holding on.

“For what?”

“For remembering him.” Hanzo cleared his throat and Jesse felt his tightening. There was more rustling and he tried to look but the tree blocked his view. He stayed put, waiting.

“It’s the decent thing t’ do.” He buried his arms underneath his serape, keeping them far from his stash of cigarillos in his pocket. It wouldn’t do to irritate Hanzo again with a scent he so clearly hated.

“You are right, you know. And wrong.” 

Jesse tipped his hat up, pursing his lips. “Yeah?”

“I have faced consequences for my actions, and have been punished.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse saw a tattooed hand run through the fur on the pelt. His throat tightened more; he’d guessed that Hanzo had been turned after the family business, but so soon… Jesus.

“But it’s hardly enough for what I did. Nothing ever will be.” Hanzo took a shuddered breath, voice cracking slightly. “He was my baby brother…”

Jesse sighed and closed his eyes, mulling over his choices. He could cut this off early, go against his morals to bring justice where it belonged, and disappear into the winds to go where the next job was. He could turn around and leave it all behind. Yet.

He’d been a broken kid on the road to Hell when someone had pulled him aside to say he could do better,  _ be  _ better. Nearly twenty years later and he was still trying, stumblings and all. A lonely road not so empty anymore.

“It ain’t my decision for what should happen t’ ya. Hell, it’d be a lil’ hypocritical of me to say you’re beyond a second thought.”

Holding onto his hat, Jesse stood up with his few belongings and went around the tree, keeping his eyes low and hand stretched out. 

“An’ I’m a selfish man myself, not willin’ to part ways with the only wolf who gave me the time of day. Don’t know when I’ll find another one, so I better not ruin this, huh?”

A hand clasped his tightly and Hanzo pulled himself up onto his feet, then slid his pelt back onto his head, tactfully hiding his face from all directions. He kept hold of his hand, fingers digging deep into the meat of his wrist.

“I should hope so,” Jesse couldn’t see it, but he knew there was a hint of an attempted smile in those words. “We have a lot of ground to cover, so we need to get back on the move.”

“I think that’s the first thing we’ve agreed on t’day, darlin’.” Jesse laughed, letting go of Hanzo and adjusting his bag strap. “Still ain’t shiftin’ though.”

Hanzo huffed and waved a hand, walking back onto their intended path towards the deep woods. “I’ve come to realise that you aren’t any faster on three legs than you are on two, anyway.”

“Good, ‘cause it’d be a pain—”  _ Wait…  _ “What’s that supposed t’ mean?!”

Hanzo said nothing, only picking up his pace to a jog and forcing Jesse to give chase.

 

**0XX0**

 

Night drew upon them soon enough, and despite best efforts, Jesse and Hanzo were forced to set camp only a couple of miles into the thick forest. They lit a small fire, sat opposite each other, and kept it going until there was no trace of sunlight left to cover their tracks. Jesse watched the dying embers and smoke, glancing up every now and then to catch Hanzo staring up at the stars. A part of him felt he should say something before they tried to rest for the dark hours, but the rest of him felt content just to have someone with him.

The itch of tobacco clawed at his lip and on instinct, Jesse took out a new cigarillo and quickly lit it. He looked up and caught Hanzo’s eye intently watching him. Shit, he’d forgotten— 

Hanzo shook his head and rolled back his shoulders, gazing back up to the faded stars. The urban lights polluted the edges of the navy sky, hiding the resilient stars from all but the most dedicated watchers. Jesse rolled his cigarillo around his mouth, taking in a long drag to satisfy the old addiction. He could practically hear Angela cursing at him from across the continent. Lil’ Fareeha too, if her last few messages were anything to go by.

God, Fareeha. Not so little anymore and taking the world by storm, doing her mother proud even if it wasn’t what Ana ever wanted for her. He should check in with her before he went back over the Atlantic. She was still stationed in Egypt with her security work, so it wouldn’t be too far to go. Maybe she’d be able to score him a ride over the ocean that wasn’t a cargo hold full of engine parts and window wipers if he begged her enough. 

He could tell her about finally meeting another wolf, with a few details removed out of interest of not derailing the excited conversation the news would bring. He hated lying to her, but it really was for the best. He didn’t have to defend his desperation this way… 

“We should get some rest, we’ll need to be up and ready again in a few hours.” Hanzo said quietly over the smoking fire wood. Jesse perked up and tilted his head.

“One of us has t’ keep watch.” He tilted his hat up, looking over to the over man to see him stretching his arms with an immense amount of concentration.

“Iwanko and Hachiko can do that,” Hanzo replied, pulling himself into a kneeling position. “They’ll alert me if they suspect anything.”

“They can do that?” Jesse asked before he could stop himself. One day he’d learn to shut up and accept things, but for now he was full of questions about Pup that had never been answered.

“Yes, and they can do it well.” Hanzo cracked open an eye, giving him a pointed look, then quickly shutting it again to focus. Meditate? Jesse wasn’t sure what the hell he was trying to do here.

“What else can they do?”

The eye opened again. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

Jesse smiled, unable to help himself. “Good thing I ain’t a cat.”

Hanzo laughed softly, tumbling over in stark contrast to how he was mere hours ago. The smile was small but bright, the glow shining through his eyes even as he tried to pin Jesse down with a glare. The daring cowboy just smirked back.

“Why do you want to know?”

“T’ take over the world.” That earned him a harder glare. “C’mon, darlin’, it don’t take a genius to know that I ain’t exactly well versed in most things ‘bout our kind. I like to learn what I can when I can.”

Hanzo eased up, tracing the shapes of his tattoo as the gears turned in his head. Jesse resisted the urge to pull his hat over his face to get away from that flash of amber interrogating him.

“I…do not know much myself, outside of my own experiences, but I could tell you what I do.” He tugged on his cut sleeve, looking away. “If you’d like.”

“Well, lemme think…” Jesse stroked his beard, barely able to hide his grin.

Hanzo didn’t humour him with a reaction, instead rewinding back to his formal posing and holding it until a burst of energy changed him into his regal four-legged form. White fur shook out and blended easily into the shadows of the trees, with only the amber eyes giving him away. They were on Jesse, expecting.

“I said it before: Ya owe me, big time. This is a good way t’ start payin’ back.”

Hanzo snorted and lay down on the ground, rolling away from Jesse in a way that he could only describe as ‘Of course’. He rested back against his bag, covering his face and smiling for a hundred different reasons as sleep overtook him at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes the first story arc for this fic. I have two options for what the next few chapters should focus on, so please leave comments telling to focus on ROMANCE or WORLDBUILDING. Either option doesn't change the plot all too much, just what you'll be getting for the next few months.
> 
> Special thanks to everyone who's been reading! It's been great to see the reaction to this fic and I can't wait to write more soon.
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	6. This World's Wide Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back, folks! Sorry for the delay, I've been busy with zine art and a sudden case of mild flu plus Cubital Tunnel Syndrome which has effected my production time by a LOT. But nothing can keep my away from this AU for long, so have a Hanzo chapter with a twist of romance! There will still be worldbuilding elements, but we're gonna go romantic stylez for a few chapters.
> 
> This was edited and looked over by Autocon21, so blame her for any lingering mistakes :'''D

“So, the mixed stuff is the most y’ can have?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper drink.”

“Ha! An’ you were tellin’ me to try a bottle of pure sake. Were you conspirin’ t’ kill me, sir?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t be so blatantly obvious about it. It was merely a joke.”

“But ya said it with such a straight face too, darlin’.”

McCree laughed without pause as he hopped over a fallen branch, picking up his pace to catch up with Hanzo on the hidden path. He stopped to kick stones from his boots every other step, cursing under his breath in… Spanish? Hanzo wasn’t close enough to discern, but he knew without looking that McCree wouldn’t have such a problem if he’d just change out of those godforsaken boots. The cowboy had cried aesthetic and ‘keepin’ up my image’ when Hanzo brought it up this morning, and his want to avoid another incident had meant not taking it to argument, even though Hanzo wanted nothing more than to throw the boots (with actual spurs! What the hell) into the lake further up the path.

After all these years of hard living, he was going soft over a lost vigilante. Unbelievable.

(It was worth it in the long run, for all the fond memories he was sure he’d look back on with a smile in the future.)

Hanzo and McCree had made a lot of progress in their journey back to the cabin, and minimal progress in getting past their differences and untold truths. The tension and awkwardness that had plagued their initial conversations was gone, but trying to get to know another person after striking out on their own for so long? Needless to say, they were both very much out of practice and learning the ropes. At least they were both making the effort to ensure this walk was as painless as possible; McCree was actually enjoyable to talk with when he wasn’t hiding himself.

However, a walk that should have only taken a day to complete had stretched out to nearly three. Not only were the cowboy boots absolutely inappropriate footwear for rough forest terrain, but McCree was slow, took too many breaks, and insisted on detours for the most trivial of reasons.

And Hanzo could only blame himself for slowing down to stay alongside him, for sharing protein bars and sips of coffee when they sat down, and for encouraging his flower weaving talents into a crude crown of primrose, bedstraw and scurvy-grass that Iwanko insisted he keep. Neither man wanted this to end too soon, it seemed (not that Hanzo would admit it aloud).

Despite the delays, they were only a dozen or so miles away from their destination. Soon they would be close enough that Hanzo would consider continuing the path up through the trees, but he wasn’t sure McCree could even get up the trunk in _those boots_.

(He was fixated; it wasn’t his fault.

 _They’re a terrible choice for this terrain,_ Iwanko muttered as he mused on how to display the flowers on his personal shelf in the cabin’s bedroom.

 _If we keep to the rocky ground, there’ll be less for anyone to track us down with,_ Hachiko pushed aside the other thoughts and guided Hanzo’s feet around a small bush he hadn’t seen.)

A brush on his shoulder pulled Hanzo away from their assuring voices and to his traveling companion. McCree was watching him intently, and Hanzo noticed that his own pace had practically slowed to a crawl. He cleared his throat, rewinding himself back to their previous conversation to avoid those sunken brown eyes boring into him.

“What else do you want to know?”

McCree tilted his head and looked to the caponies, scratching his beard the way he did when he wanted Hanzo to think the gears were working to turn in his head. He wasn’t very good at hiding that kind of reality.

“Okay, so we established I’ve slowly been killin’ myself for years with all the whiskey ‘n’ bourbon I love like m’ firstborn child,” McCree started, slipping his fidgeting thumbs through his belt loops. Hanzo scoffed at the comment. “An’ it explains why I feel extra shitty after a bottle too much, but what I don’t get is that it clears up real quick once I throw it back up? Is it our freakishly high metabolism? Human genetics kickin’ in when the sun comes up? A wizard did it?”

Never before in his life did Hanzo ever think so many words could be used to express a single thought, but again and again McCree was showing him a whole new side to things he thought he knew. He still wasn’t sure why McCree spoke in such a way, but he’d find out eventually. He’d like to, at least.

“I’m not a biologist, but from what I understand it’s more to do with removing the poison to allow the healing to take place.” Hanzo answered, hands tightening around his bow strap in an effort to draw away and focus on something else. “Your system cannot properly take care of the damage when the cause is still in place, but once it is gone, you are as good as new.”

“That… makes a shit load of sense. Never thought of it that way before.” McCree gave him a small smile, bright enough to move Hanzo further ahead with his eyes elsewhere.

 _If he keeps this up, we’re going to have a bigger problem_ , Iwanko chuckled and he could hear the wolf’s smirk radiating too proudly.

 _Leave the Master alone, it’s not the cub’s fault that he’s attractive_ , Hachiko replied in a most unhelpful way. He thought they’d left this chatter behind when McCree first left, but apparently he was in for much more mocking from them due to that one thought he had let stray too far weeks ago. All that control and strength of will was for naught; he was stuck with two spirits giving him terrible advice to go ‘hit that’.

 _It’s not terrible advice_ , Iwanko shook his head and pouted.

 _We only want the best for you_ , Hachiko smiled in her usual way but it did nothing to soothe Hanzo’s frown.

“The best for me would be for the two of you to cease talking.” He bowed his head and rubbed at his temple with a freed hand. At any other occasion, he could hide every single emotion behind a mask of indifference, but his companions were set on shattering it through sheer force of teasing. He had to keep it in check, no matter what they said, or everything would crumble around him again.

He couldn’t handle that flood, not now nor for a long time. Yesterday’s near disaster was proof enough.

“Yer dogs botherin’ ya, darlin’?” McCree snuck up on him again, tipping his hat and chewing on his lip where a cigarillo would normally rest (he was probably saving them for later). Hanzo sighed, risking looking at him again.

“They are not dogs, they—” _We like him already!_

‘ _You liked him before, you don’t need to repeat yourselves!’_

“Yes, they’re bothering me and I am considering leaving them in a ditch.”

“Aw, no need for that!” McCree laughed heartily and slapped Hanzo’s shoulder, not moving his gloved hand away when it would be polite to do so. The tattoo shivered and he could feel the fingers digging into his muscle without the threat of an attack.

When was the last time anyone had touched him like so?

 _Brother_.

“You tell ‘em that ol’ Jesse McCree wants them to hush.” McCree smiled, softer and more playful as he patted Hanzo’s shoulder. “I wanna get back t’ the cabin without their master tryin’ to kill me. Again.”

That wasn’t something to joke about, even now. He’d come to close to repeating mistakes, to adding more ghosts to the graveyard that followed him, to staining his sinned soul with innocent blood.

McCree knew all that, and more from whatever Overwatch had learnt about his family. Had known Genji in his last days, and ran away to nowhere when confronted with truth. He _knew_ , and he ran.

Hanzo pushed that all aside to smile back at McCree briefly. Iwanko and Hachiko stayed silent, not a single quip or comment on his behaviour leaving their fangs.

“That… actually worked.” Hanzo blinked, searching his mind for a missed word. Nothing but himself, for the first time in years. He felt his smile widen on its own as McCree’s fist pumped the air.

“Jus’ call me th—”

 **_Danger_ **.

The wind changed and Hanzo stood on edge, hair bristled and senses alert as he scanned the trees for what he had missed. There was nothing but swaying branches and fluttering leaves. He reached for an arrow, dulling McCree’s voice to white noise when he saw it: the shadow.

A pack was following them.

“Kuso.”

His bow was loaded and aimed as the wolves stepped out into the light, snarling and baring their fangs at the two intruders. Their dark furs, matted and shining in all the wrong places, stood on end as they edged closer. The beasts weren’t nearly as large as either of their wolf forms, but they were obviously strong and fast enough to cause caution. Hanzo pulled back on the string, arrow ready to pierce their skulls. He felt McCree shuffle closer, muscles tense.

A gloved hand went on his.

“Hanzo, we can’t be killin’ ‘em.” McCree whispered, pushing Hanzo’s aim to the ground. The archer glared at him, only to notice the flashes of gold reflecting in his twitching eyes. The lines on his face deepened, hair on his face and arm steadily growing. He was barely holding back.

“I can slow them down, let you gain some distance.” He pulled his bow back up but stopped when McCree shook his head. Eyes kept on the wolves crawling in closer, snapping jaws and warnings. Words barely decipherable with the roar of teeth but strong enough for a promise.

“Good thinkin’, but I was meanin’ something else.” McCree’s forehead twitched. He breathed through his teeth. “This is a protected species. Why do y’ think I came here last moon? No one else was gonna care as much as the folks ‘round here do.”

“ _Oh_.” A protected species under constant watch by the state, surveyed by the most zealous of guardians. Were any found to be injured by human hands, more determined enemies and crimes would be added to both of their already-expansive lists. Unnecessary and completely avoidable trouble they didn’t need to get into if they wanted to stay alive and undetected.

(Though Hanzo wasn’t focusing on that; the fact that McCree was able to reason that much while fighting off the instinct to shift and fight spoke to an incredible power of will. His respect for the agent grew tenfold.)

That left them with one option.

“Run!”

With unrivaled speed, the arrow and bow were locked away before Hanzo had even turned on his heel to sprint away. He dodged around the trees, with only the sounds of jingling spurs and escalating howls telling him anyone was behind him. He didn’t dare look back, staring straight ahead through the green to the open lake glistening in the far distance. The edge of his territory would be enough to ward the animals off, then they would be safe for the rest of the walk to the cabin.

A loud thud cut off the spurs. A growl drowned them out.

 _McCree, he—!_ Hachiko yelped. Hanzo skidded to a stop and spun around.

McCree was sprawled over the ground, one ankle twisted painfully over a log and kicking at a wolf snapping at him with his other foot. His hat had been knocked off, showing the shifting skin and muscle under his skin.

‘ _Scare them off!_ ’ The spirits manifested from his arm, snarling and barking at the physical wolves tailing behind.

Hanzo ran straight towards McCree, grabbing his hat and pulling him to sit up properly. His breathing was haggard and his face was screwed up in unimaginable pain, jaw clenched in a futile effort to hold control. It wasn’t working, so Hanzo had to work fast. A massacre of this wolf pack wouldn’t do them any favours either, and Hanzo had come too far for the cowboy to lose it all in a moment of blindness; he did not drag his past out through the dirt for **this**.

“McCree, listen to me,” he ordered, planting the hat on McCree’s head, forcing him to look up away from the pain. “Can you move at all?”

McCree pulled his leg away from the log, wincing when it jostled on the ground. “It’s jus’ twisted a lil’, gimme fifteen minutes to heal.”

Hanzo looked over at the wolves, cowering away from the ghostly visions of themselves but still trying to claw at them. Iwanko and Hachiko snapped back, not doing enough damage to last, but he wasn’t in a position to summon the Strike even just to scare them off for good.

“We don’t have fifteen minutes. Can you keep this form until we get past the lake?” Hanzo supported McCree’s weight, holding him up as he rested his head on his armoured shoulder to take a deep shuddering breath.

“I’ll hold.” McCree said, newfound strength buried in his drawl and digging up a strain of hope for them both. Hanzo nodded and dove into action without a second thought.

Hauling McCree over his shoulders in a fireman's hold and calling his spirits back to him, Hanzo held on tightly as he ran back onto the path. All concentration on his footfall and grip, he barely felt his companions rejoin him. They jumped him over tall bushes, under low branches, and through the thick flora - _protect, run, guard_ \- until all that was in front of him was a lakeside and deep water.

He skidded to a turn and kept going, assured by his extra eyes that their pursuers were slowing on the edge of their own territory. Familiar land came up ahead and he almost crashed into the first marked tree that came in his way. His legs burned and his back ached, but it was quiet around them.

 **_Safe_ **.

It took all of Hanzo’s strength not to slump over when he knelt down to let McCree off his shoulders, tensing up his muscles when the other man gazed up at him with a wide smile and flushed face.

“That— “ he pulled off his boot and sock, rolling up his chaps and jeans to inspect the sickly green colour spreading over his ankle. “—was amazing, and I’ve seen some crazy bullshit in my life! Those guns o’ yers ain’t just for show, huh?”

Hanzo shook his head and finally sat down against a rock. The rush was over and adrenaline was running through his, turning his thoughts to fog and vision to a smoky haze. He breathed, too deep but not enough, drying his throat out without a chance to swallow. A hum settled in his ears, accompanied by the calming voices of his spirits. It would pass, like all things.

Maybe like a kidney stone, but the point was still made.

The sun hit Hanzo’s eyes and reminded him that he wasn’t alone. He turned over to McCree, questions on the tip of his tongue, but found nothing to worry about on inspection. The discolouring on his foot was fading away like a white knuckle and he seemed at peace just to be lying out in the open after such an ordeal.

(He wasn’t envious. McCree just knew how to wear a good mask, he was sure.)

Their eyes met and there wasn’t a trace of amber to be found in McCree’s iris. Hanzo blinked, unbelieving. Mere minutes ago he had been in the midst of shifting in unknown territory, and now he was as fine as a new moon puppy. It didn’t add up; he blinked again.

McCree shuffled over, mindful of his bruised limb, and rested back with his fleshly palm against his forehead. Hanzo kept watching him, their new brand of quiet seeping through the cracks of relief for their wellbeing. It was a bare comfort.

“We gotta stop meetin’ like this, darlin’.” McCree said somberly against his brightly lit face. Hanzo snorted and rolled his head away.

“Yes, I’d hate to develop a habit of saving you all the time.” He couldn’t see it, but he knew that got another smile out of McCree.

“It’d help if the white knight would stop puttin’ me in life threatenin’ situations first of all.” An elbow nudged Hanzo out of his unamused reply and he looked back, only to roll his eyes at the supposedly charming expression the cowboy wore.

“I make no promises.” Was all he said as he stood up on protesting legs and gently stretched them out for the long trek they still had to make. He could apologise to himself later when this was all over. For now, they had more pressing matters at hand.

“I reckon we best mosey on ‘fore it gets dark.” McCree said, pulling his boot back on and testing the weight. Hanzo pulled him up onto his feet, holding him steady until he found his balance again. McCree tipped his hat to him, barely hiding the gold that came and went in the gleam of his eye. Remarkable strength, indeed.

“Another thing we agree on, McCree.”

 

**0XX0**

 

“The hell’d ya do to my comm. piece?!”

Hanzo held in his flinch and centered himself as McCree strode past him to fuss over the tools and pieces of his communicator laid out over the otherwise bare coffee table, high pitched noises and all. He dumped their travel bags by the empty fireplace and locked the front door, going through the motions to warm up the cabin before the evening chill settled in.

“How the fu…” McCree muttered under his breath, picking up what used to be the holo-screen between his metal fingers. He worked his mouth around silent words, then hung his head as if he had personally witnessed a tragedy of Shakespearean quality. Hanzo’s lips quirked up briefly.

“I had to ensure it couldn’t be tracked.” He explained, walking around the man to hang his pelt over the back of the couch. With it balance, he began to peel off his outer armour while digging around the bookcase for the matchbox.

“I admire the thoroughness, honest t’ God, but this is extreme.” McCree tugged his hat off and ran a hand through his greasy, tangled hair, still not looking up. “She was so young, so pure.”

Hanzo picked up a match, making a beeline to the fireplace and pulling back the guard to throw a couple logs onto the ash. Ideas formed in his head as he spoke carefully. “I’ll put it back together, I owe you that much. Meanwhile you can get yourself freshened up.”

That got the cowboy’s attention on him again. He didn’t look back at him, but he didn’t have to to know the dirty eye was being thrown at him.

“Are ya tryin’ to tell me I stink?”

Hanzo lit the match and threw it onto the logs, replacing the guard as the fire flashed up into the chimney. He turned around and crossed his arms. “No, I **_am_ ** telling you that you smell.”

McCree’s hand flew to his chest, mouth agape in a flair of offense. Hanzo bit his cheek and frowned down the twitch in his jaw.

“The shower is still rusted shut, before you complain; the river isn’t far from here. I won’t go anywhere near you this time.”

McCree chuckled and stood up to his full height, eyes still narrowed and pronouncing the emerging crows feet etched in the corners. The hat returned to its rightful place and he tipped it with a handsome crooked smile. Hanzo stayed still.

“I’ll have a quick splash t’ stop yer nose from fallin’ off an’ then we’ll see about food. Sound alright?”

“That sounds fine.”

Once McCree was out the backdoor and far away, Hanzo kicked off his boots and fell backwards onto the couch. Exhaustion creeped into his old bones again and he let it weigh him down; no one was here to see the act drop or his emotions bleed through. He dragged his hands down his face, groaning loudly.

Being around McCree, it was easy to forget, easy to forgive, easy to laugh. He’d almost forgotten how good that felt, nevermind sharing it with someone else. Iwanko and Hachiko were always fine company, but nothing compared to another person.

 _‘Sorry_.’ It wasn’t fair to admit it, but it was true. No matter what reservations he held about the agent, they seemed to slip away whenever McCree spoke or turned a joke onto him. He should be smarter about this, keep himself guarded for just a few days, yet it seemed impossible. No wonder Jesse McCree had survived a $60 million bounty for so long; he could charm Death itself into forgiving him if he so wished.

(No wonder he’d been Blackwatch. He excelled at every part of the job.)

Hanzo exhaled and opened his eyes, staring down at the disassembled communicator in front of him. No matter what McCree threw at him, he had to keep on the watch. Keep reminding himself of the man’s true nature, that they would be apart in a couple days; anything to hold the fragile distance and Hanzo’s few hopes afloat without leaving unsatisfied for company. For now, the communicator would suffice to distract him.

 

**0XX0**

 

The back door slammed shut and heavy footfall came through the kitchen just as the fire cracked loud enough to pull Hanzo’s concentration away from his task for just a moment. He scanned the room and stretched his back, popping a disk and making him feel much older than he should. A humming tune flowed in with the warmth, but it wasn’t something Hanzo recognised, so he left it unappreciated to screw in a circuit board. He was nearly halfway done with rebuilding the communicator, and could estimate finishing in a couple hours time if he kept up the current pace—

“How’s it goin’ over there, darlin’?” McCree’s presence came up behind the couch, leaning over for a better look.

“Well enough, it should be finished soo— I-I…” Hanzo made the mistake of looking at McCree and all mental progress came to a complete halt.

McCree.

Shirtless.

Wet.

Dripping water onto the wooden floor, _it’s going to damage—_

 _Oh no_ , Iwanko and Hachiko whispered. Hanzo shook himself out of the daze and put the communicator away from his surely shaking hands. McCree stood there, lopsided grin taking over his damp face, until Hanzo shoved a blanket at it.

“Don’t drip on my floor.”

McCree’s muffled voice came through the fabric but Hanzo was already moving up and around to deal with the water before it could lift the boards. He kept his head and gaze below the belt (he’d managed to get the BAMF belt on but not a shirt? Was he trying to ruin him?) and grabbed an old rag from his weapons kit to quickly wipe away the mess.

McCree kept the blanket to his face until Hanzo pushed him away to the kitchen. He peered over but Hanzo took no bait. He let go once McCree was through the doorway and schooled his expression into something he hoped would strike some fear into the towering man. By the way he gulped and straightened, he was assured that it’d worked.

“Dry yourself properly and get dressed, then we can eat.” He ordered, voice surprisingly steady.

McCree lowered the bundled blanket from his face to cover up more of his chest, face softening. Hanzo stood as a statue in his stance.

“Would ya mind handin’ me the hoodie from my bag? It’d help out a lot.” His voice was just as gentle and easy as the rest of him right now, but Hanzo caught the strain in his jaw. He was holding something back. Nevertheless.

“Don’t move. I mean it.” He backed out of the kitchen, keeping eye contact. McCree raised an eyebrow at him that lasted beyond the doorway, up to Hanzo throwing the hoodie at his face.

The blanket dropped as he rushed to catch the projectile clothing and Hanzo couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous way his eyebrows pointed as he tried to glare. He wasn’t so distracting when he wasn’t looking so sincere.

“I’ll be back in a minute to help with the food.” Hanzo made a quick exit to the main room and collapsed on the couch again, looking over the remaining pieces of communicator still waiting to be fixed up. It could wait another hour. At least then he’d have an excuse to ignore McCree if the need arose. After tonight… he wouldn’t be so sure.

He was supposed to be better than this. Dammit all.

 _He’s only caught you off-guard, Master_ , Iwanko said as Hanzo got up to remove more of his attire, stripping down to the shitagi and kobakama.

 _He is not the first to catch certain attentions of yours_ , Hachiko soothed, stretching her calm energies out. Hanzo took a breath and nodded; she was right, as she was most of the time. It had merely been a few years since anybody had made his head turn and McCree was simply the latest in the line.

It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Once his armour and outer layers were laid out in their place over the abandoned rocking chair, Hanzo did a sweep of the room and found nothing else to spend his energy on. There were no concerning noises coming from the kitchen, so he took his time with the ten paces to reach the doorway and peered in once he reminded himself that he was prepared to face anything. Even a rugged cowboy.

True to word, McCree hadn’t strayed far from where Hanzo had left him. He was dryer and not making a mess nor dragging out embarrassing faces from Hanzo with his concealed top half. The blanket was folded atop the counter and McCree was rooting around the cupboards for plates. He turned over to look when Hanzo stepped in further.

“There y’ are, I was beginnin’ to wonder if you’d gotten lost, darlin’.” McCree laughed, a heavenly sound that made Hanzo roll his eyes at the notion.

“You can hear me from thirty feet away, I’m sure you knew I wasn’t lost.” Hanzo went straight for the pantry door, digging around old cans and jars for something that could resemble a meal for the both of them.

“More than one way t’ get lost.” He was all too aware of that, but he was sure McCree meant it that way. He understood.

Hanzo grabbed a loaf of bread and checked it over. No mold, bugs or black spots, good. With some sauce and rabbit meat, it could turn into a filling meal for the night. It was a shame he had no access to ingredients he knew more intimately, or else he could give McCree a meal worth the long walk across borders, mountains and wolf packs.

(He would have to go secure his territory borders to ensure those animals wouldn’t dare cross their paths again. He wouldn’t be so merciful a second time.)

Hanzo came out with the meal parts just as McCree pulled out plates, pans and silver utensils that Hanzo knew were not his. He must’ve swiped them when his head was turned the other way, though he wasn’t sure when that could’ve been. Another skill he could add to the growing list.

“Hey, Hanzo.” Said man turned to McCree, only raising an eyebrow. McCree fidgeted under his stare, fiddling with his belt loops and trying to pull down a hat that had gone elsewhere.

“Look, there ain’t no easy way of sayin’ this, but I wanted t’ say sorry for the shit I said back over the border. It weren’t right o’ me to say those things to yer face an’ hurt you—”

“Don’t.”

McCree stared at him, surprise clear all over him, as Hanzo pursed his lips and worked to find the right words. Just when it’d started to go so well… He _was_ trying to ruin him, one way or another.

“I don’t want to hear it or talk about it. Leave it at that.” He stated, far simpler than the typhoon building in the darkest depths of his mind where even his companions couldn’t dwell. He held his frown without looking twice at McCree; those fiery browns would only wound him further.

He didn’t need that, and neither did Hanzo. They came back to put things behind them in the interest of appeasing their needs for the company of a kindred spirit. McCree was doing just the opposite of that. Why did he have to dig that back up, it was going so well. They could’ve gotten through this.

Hanzo laid out the food over the countertop, checking through the mental list of the simple recipe. He opened the jar of sauce and peered in, swirling it around. There wasn’t much left; maybe he could spread it out by adding cornstarch to the pot, but that begged the question of whether or not he had any left. If not, he could thin it out with water, though that would weaken the flavour considerably and give them an unfulfilling meal.

“I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness, Hanzo.” McCree came up to the counter, staying a pace away. Hanzo bore a hole through the bread, not willing to take the risk to catch his gaze. “I’m just lettin’ ya know that I’m sorry so it doesn’ hang over our heads. What’s wrong with that?”

“I already told you that I don’t want to talk about what happened.” A shameful display, his mask crumbling to dust and his entire being unraveling in front of an almost-stranger. All because of one revelation.

‘ _I didn’t know him._ ’

Cast it out, shackle it to the foundations. He couldn’t bear to let it linger too close to the sun.

“So that means ya can’t let things go even if you’d be better off for it?” Damn this man… “You’re holdin’ the pain in and hopin’ ignoring it makes it go away, is that it?”

“You’re putting words into my mouth, McCree.” He rose his voice, stepping away with his head down and arms forced to his sides. McCree didn’t follow.

“No, I’m sayin’ what you really mean.” Hanzo stopped, hands clutching the edge of the rusty sink and leaving faint dents under his fingers. He lifted his head up and finally looked at McCree.

He was cornered away, keeping distance but bustling with such vigorous energy that made Hanzo wonder how he could possibly stand it. But there he stayed, breathing long and deep, with the wild fire in his eyes that left him too open to be anything but honest. A master of saboteur from the shadows, wielding his greatest weapon.

The worst part of it all: he wasn’t wrong.

 _He’s hesitating. He doesn’t want to fall back either,_ Iwanko whispered, brushing against Hanzo without any edges.

 _It weighs us all down. What else can we do but drown in the tide?_ Hachiko joined him, pressing against the threatening headache and emotions.

_Think on it, Master._

“You ever think half the problem is that ya pushed it away for so long ‘til it couldn’t be nothin’ else but a shock?” McCree came slightly closer, only enough to bring Hanzo’s attention back to reality. Hanzo blinked, then swallowed.

“If I let go of any of it, what is left to hold me up?” Turning McCree’s own weapon against him, he watched the agent’s face slacken. The wild fire was gone, not even a trace of the embers left in the gold. He couldn’t recognise what replaced it, only that it was somber.

“That’s how you survive? ‘Til ya burn out for good?” McCree asked quietly, crossing his arms and clutching his biceps in an off rhythm.

Hanzo didn’t answer. He turned away to look out of the dusty window to the fire pit, its flames long past smoldering. His own fires had burnt out quickly, already too tired to keep up the fight. Ten years of the same process and he didn’t know how much longer he had left to burn; perhaps not even long enough to start on the path that so easily alluded him all these years. Yet McCree was still full of the energy he’d once possessed on his path against the elders.

(He wasn’t envious. McCree just…)

McCree’s reflection joined his own and Hanzo felt his hands being pried away from the sink. He looked down and found the dents far deeper than he’d anticipated. McCree held up his hands, the small scratches of the jagged metal already healing, and patted them gently.

“I won’t get int’ another fight with ya, Hanzo. They don’t end up pretty.” He chuckled, letting go of his hands. Hanzo clenched and rubbed them together, bringing the blood back into the cold veins. “But yer doin’ a lot helpin’ me out with the wolf stuff, so I wanna return the favour a bit y’know? Ya don’t have t’ take on anythin’ I say, but hear an old man out, won’tcha?”

Hanzo considered him, taking in the raw concern and the silent plea to help. Iwanko and Hachiko whined, mirroring the puppy-dog eyes. He closed his eyes and breathed, clearing out his mind. The kitchen was silent around them, only the songs of birds outside disrupting it. The sun would set soon enough, maybe he could show McCree how to get onto the roof for the best view.

He opened his eyes and McCree was now leaning on the sink by his elbows, staring out into the forest with a sad smile.

“I’ve been where you are, I buried similar things an’ by God it drains ya.” Hanzo watched him stare out, eyes dropping to his prosthetic as the fingers twitched at a memory or some other wayward thought. They were tired, but still here by sheer luck and perseverance.

“An’ the more you have draggin’ you down, the harder it is t’ get up again an’ again. You chose to let go, not let any of it bother ya anymore, an’ the days get easier. You get back that control and nothin’ can take ya down.”

It sounded too easy. But it sounded…nice. Control over himself was all he’d been striving for, the curse being only the surface of that journey. There was more to it than just reigning in the beast boiling for blood and vengeance. A Shimada was a far more fickle creature, human or not.

Yet here was proof of the goal met, McCree himself offering a helping hand. It wasn’t perfect, barely ideal even, but it was a start. Everything had to start from somewhere. He could make something out of this.

“For a man who stumbles around in terrible cowboy boots singing decades old country music, you happen to be wise.” He leant against the sink as well, raising an eyebrow to the tilted smile McCree threw at him.

“I know yer tryin’ to be sneaky with that insult, but I’m gonna take it as a compliment anyway.”

“Somehow, I expected that.”

They laughed, nothing strong but not hollow either. Just a much needed catharsis to get back on track. Hanzo shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he pulled on an old tangle. He shook it off, putting away a chore to cut his hair again at some point. For all the flack he gave McCree, only now was he feeling was dirty as he probably looked. This routine between them was already becoming old, and he had no wish to repeat the cycle now that they were back on neutral grounds; the thought made his skin itch.

As well the thought of other routines repeating; there were a million things he hadn’t done yet, starting with McCree’s progress. It’d be good to get something else out of it to power him for the long run.

But other matters came first that they had to attend to, his rumbling stomach reminded them both.

“We should really get that dinner goin’, huh.” McCree nudged him gently with his prosthetic elbow, not moving to action either.

“We should.” Hanzo looked back out the window, noting the orange tint to the billowing clouds. The dusk would paint them red and the stars purple soon enough. “If we’re quick, we won’t miss the view.”

“I like the way ya think, darlin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly announce that I am an artist for the McHanzo fanzine, To Ashes, found here https://twitter.com/overzines and https://toashesfanzine.tumblr.com/. This is a great collaborative zine full of amazing, fun people who I am so honoured to work alongside <3 Please keep an eye out for pre-orders and support this zine in any way you can!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	7. In A New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mchanzo week, readers! Tried to get this updated yesterday for AU day, but the heatwave killed my computer and also me. This is ghost Loch keeping y'all updated with werewolf goodness. This chapter may seem like filler at the moment, but I promise it's setting up some good character building for future chapters.
> 
> Thanks again to Autocon21 for helping throw ideas and screaming at me while reading the drafts. She's the best at it. And thanks to my biology major friend, Dragon, for her wolf biology info that I shoved into the worldbuilding <3 She keeps it real, lads.

The sunset was a mighty different - but no less pretty - sight from the roof of the cabin, steaming mug of decaf coffee in hand and a warm spot in his chest that kept on growing as the sun crawled into the black. The one thing that would make this perfect was if the itching demand to shift wasn't pulling on him right there and then.

Jesse sighed through his nose and sipped at his drink, sitting back against the tiles without slipping from his spot. He could hear Hanzo moving around the fire pit, cleaning up the old ashes and setting up a new wood pile for later tonight if all went well. Jesse hoped it would; testing Hanzo’s theories and advice for the first time wasn't exactly putting him at ease. On the other hand, the obvious difference between cycles was making the chance of this going wrong all the more impossible.

The first piece of advice given to him was not to resist the urge as hard as he usually did.

“The more you push, the harder it pushes back and takes over when it inevitably wins.”

Jesse had been hesitant to give the wolf any wiggle room; he knew his other half and it would jump at a chance to take over early. Hanzo wasn't convinced and gave him steps to keep a leash on the whole deal.

Focus on the least painful shifts; let the fur grow, the nails sharpen. Bit by bit, not all at once. You are in control, the wolf listens to _you_.

He’d gotten the first part down to an art in just a few hours. Fur was steadily growing over every inch of him, and the nails were ticking against the mug, but there was no sudden body snatching once he loosened his grip. The need and hunger were still there, chipping away, but not burning his skin as he’d become accustomed to over the years.

Jesse took another sip and watched the red tint turn purple on the clouds. He could already feel the moonlight over his shoulder. It made him shiver.

“Are you almost ready?” Hanzo’s voice carried over on the breeze. Jesse cleared his throat, smiling.

(Damn wolf better not make a fool of him tonight in front of Hanzo.

Or let anything slip. He did not need that fallout right now.)

“Comin’ down, darlin’!” The rest of the coffee went down in two large gulps, leaving the smirk on his lips as he slipped off the roof to land on a well-practiced roll. With the way his knees only mildly protested from the harsh movements, Jesse knew that his moon-hungry system was already working overtime for the shift.

(Maybe it wouldn't hurt this time? But he was realistic too; he had to prepare for the pain just like every other time.)

Jesse stood up and stretched himself out, popping all his joints at once, and then dusted down his jeans as Hanzo rounded the corner of the cabin. Unlike him, the archer was fully kitted in all of his gear right down to the even number of arrows in his quiver. The hours labouring through combing and braiding the pelt back to form were well spent; Hanzo was his regal self once again, and in the orange light of the dusk he was another sight to behold.

The smile and the warmth persisted as Jesse tipped his hat to Hanzo, filling his voice as he spoke. “Almost didn’ recognise ya there, darlin’.”

“Is that so?” Hanzo replied with a cocked eyebrow as he neared. Jesse laughed and winked back.

( _‘Abort, abort! What the hell are you thinking?!_ ’ That sounded way too much like Jefe…)

“I’d remember if you ever look as lovely as ya do now.”

“Are you saying-” Hanzo crossed his arms and stopped only a step away from Jesse, staring up at him with a neutral expression. “-that I usually look… unlovely?”

Shit.

Shit. shit.

Shiiiiiit.

“N-No, no! I didn't mean that, I-!” Jesse clamped his mouth shut, feeling his fangs growing to pierce his bottom lip. Sweat was rolling off him in buckets and his tongue refused to untie itself to form any words, biting or not. He didn’t do that snapping crap, not anymore.

A smirk made an appearance on Hanzo’s face and he looked _far_ too proud of himself. What a handsome smart-ass.

“Ya clean up real nicely, Hanzo.” He finished lamely moments later, arms hanging uselessly at his sides and he couldn't even begin to imagine how red his own face was. It burnt like hell, so it was bad enough.

(‘ _Dios mío, you’re an idiot. You can’t even flirt_.’ Even from beyond the grave, Jefe was always right.)

Hanzo huffed out a soft chuckle, hiding behind a hand but Jesse could see the crinkling in the corners of his eyes and the hint of a wider smile denting his cheeks. His hand fell away, revealing nothing but that same smirk. Hanzo leaned forward and took Jesse’s hat, and Jesse held his breath.

“Try again when you don’t resemble Cousin Itt so much.” The smirk softened into a smile and Hanzo walked past him. Jesse blinked and reached up to touch his face, feeling the long fur at every angle. Oh dear God, he must've looked like the right fool he felt. It was a miracle Hanzo hadn't laughed him out of the country—

Jesse’s perked ears picked up the archer’s sudden move from trot to sprint, far away from the cabin, and long string of Japanese curses he knew weren't unrelated.

Oh good, Hanzo was just as big a flirting wreck as he was.

Jesse put his hands on his hips and rolled back onto his heels, staring at the toes of his spurred boots jingling in the breeze. His fur bristled, his skin moved on its own, and the bone of his jaw slowly shift out. It wasn't painful - he could barely feel it actually even when his metal fingers gently traced the outline.

His hand went up to his ear, feeling the tip pointing and growing longer. He rolled his shoulders; his shirt still fit the same way, and so did his boots. One step at a time, he was gonna be fine. He smiled.

“McCree!” Jesse turned around to face a returning Hanzo, hands empty of his hat. “I almost forgot…”

“What is it?” His speech was already slurring, dammit. That was quick. Hanzo looked him over quickly then cleared his throat. His cheeks had turned red in the intervening moments, Jesse noted with a smug smile.

“I was about to remind you to start shifting, but…” Hanzo waved a hand at Jesse and shook his head, face gradually returning to its professional blank slate. On any other day, Jesse would've lamented the loss of Hanzo’s less suave side, but tonight he was just glad that at least one of them had their head in the game.

“Leave your things in a pile and I’ll pick them up once you’re done.” Hanzo fiddled with his quiver strap, brown eyes filling with familiar amber as they pierced him. Those spirits must've been fixing to get out, just like him.

“Do you want me to take your arm?” Hanzo asked, tilting his head to the prosthetic. Jesse dropped it to his chest, flexing the palm. He hesitated, despite knowing better; Hanzo wouldn't do anything with it, even the wolf agreed with him on that. The dangerous thing called habit was catching up with him, nipping at his heels. Jesse shot it down with a deadly eye.

He nodded to Hanzo and twisted at the elbow. Nerves wirelessly disconnected, sending a buzz to the back of his head where the surgical scar lay. He was normally too far gone to even feel it on a full moon. Tonight was crowded with many good changes, now the other foot just had to drop reality on him.

Hanzo came over and gingerly took the arm off him. He turned it over, studying every part before tinkering with the fingers to point one at Jesse’s face. He narrowed his eyes at his own appendage and frowned.

“There is nothing to fear for tonight, McCree. There is being realistic, but then there’s you: paranoid.” The finger flicked his nose and he growled low in his throat. Hanzo tutted, flickering amber eyes staring right back at his own. “You know I'm right. Once you let go of that fear, all will go well.”

Jesse pouted and looked away, scratching at his disappearing beard until he heard the archer walk off back to where he came. Jesse sighed through his teeth, wishing he could cross his arms right now. Hanzo wasn't wrong, per se, but he didn't have to be like… like _that_.

He ran his hand (or paw? Jesus, this was speeding up now) through what was left of his hair and grumbled under his breath. It wasn't the time to get into one of his infamous pre-shift moods; he couldn't afford snapping at Hanzo in his other form. What if he bit him? Would that effect him? Or would he just end up with one less friend in the world?

Huh, friend. It was a bit soon to be thinking of it like that.

Jesse shook his head and started unbuttoning his shirt, letting his mind wander elsewhere. He had more important things to work on tonight, after all.

 

**0XX0**

 

The shift was a whole new experience unto itself. Jesse couldn't begin to describe it. Well, maybe there was a couple ways: Preferable; Easier. By no means was it anywhere near perfect (that would require him not having to turn every month, or ever), but compared to what he’d come to expect with the full moon, he liked it. The cracking and breaking of bones were left to his hind quarters, which still hurt like hell, while the rest just… melted into place.

He scratched his paws into the dirt and shook the last of his tail out. It thumped against his legs as the rest of the fur settled into place and his senses truly came alive under the bright moon.

The forest was brimming with life in its undergrowth, making his mouth water with the thought of chasing it all under the moon, feeding off its power and the blood of his prey. He sniffed the ground, narrowing down the thousands scents to a vaguely familiar odor and the trail of something big enough to satisfy the hunger.

_Hunt, fight, protect._

His ears swivelled around and he growled loudly before the intruder could take a step. He looked over his shoulder, rumble echoing out his throat and fur bristling high, and glared. Hanzo held his empty hands up, no stutter in his walk as he came closer.

“Do you forget where you are, McCree?”

Jesse’s jaw went slack as the scent caught up to him. It wasn't the scent that surrounded the archer and his home, but it was unmistakably Hanzo. _His_ territory and he’d threatened him! The muffled memories of voices scolding him for such a stupid move filled his mind, momentarily pushing aside all other thoughts as he did the first thing he could think of. He tucked his tail between his legs, crouched down and whined loudly.

Hanzo came to stand over him as he fell onto his side, underbelly exposed, and legs curled up. Jesse couldn't read his shadowed expression but he whined his apology out nonetheless, hoping to get the right words across. Hanzo knelt down by his head, tapping him on the nose with a bare knuckle.

“I understand the sentiment, but there’s no need.” Jesse went quiet, flattening his ears against his head.

Hanzo let out a short, sharp laugh that perked Jesse’s ears back up, listening for more. A bird cried in the tree above them and he snapped his head to it, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A hand pushed back on his neck, holding him to the ground.

“Soon, I promise. But do not forget who’s in charge, McCree.” Hanzo gave him one last look, face schooled into its blank slate, before standing up tall again and going to grab the pile of clothes left for him. Jesse watched him carefully, struggling onto his own paws to chase him around the corner. Boss or not, those were still his and his alone.

Their non-essentials were left in the kitchen and they walked off from the cabin.

Focusing on Hanzo’s unique personal scent, separated from the territory markers by some mysterious factor he couldn't pinpoint, Jesse let the birds and small creatures scamper away from his jaws to limp to the back of the cabin. Hanzo was by the fire pit, checking over his quiver again without acknowledging his guest. Jesse hobbled over, energy building up as the moon rose higher and his hunger not yet sated. Getting antsy so early was never a good sign.

_Hunt, fight, protect._

“We’ll head out south and start hunting once we know our tracks have been covered.” Hanzo explained, fastening his straps tight to his armour and shooting Jesse a look that could only be described as authoritative. He stood to attention, all concerns thrown to the wind. Hanzo knew what he was doing, Hanzo could lead tonight’s hunt without any trouble.

The predatory mantra repeated in Jesse’s head as he and Hanzo followed the hidden forest path, his eyes locked on the fall of boots and nose tracking the scent he could so easily become addicted to. It grew stronger with every step out into the wilderness, even more so as energy crackled over Hanzo’s hunching form. He said nothing, revealing nothing, but Jesse’s barest instincts knew that the moon was calling him too. No wolf like them could resist it for long.

He wondered if Hachiko and Iwanko felt it too, how they fed themselves and sated their need for a fresh kill.

The upwards slant of the rockier terrain signalled the end of their mismatched trek. Hanzo held a hand up to Jesse, pinning his shining amber gaze on him. Jesse halted and lowered his head, flattening his ears against the chittering in the bushes and branches. Hanzo took a few steps forwards, staying in sight as the sparks of energy multiplied.

The wave blinded Jesse for the briefest moment, flooding his every sense with ancient power he could only name by the scent that clung Hanzo like a shadow.

The light died down and Jesse shook the spots out of his eyes, blinking quickly as he wrinkled his nose. It cleared out quickly enough for Jesse to catch Hanzo shaking out his fresh white fur, not a speck of dirt anywhere to be found on his impossibly pristine self. Jesse admired the view as Hanzo stretched out each of his legs and then turned his attention to him. Jesse barked softly and let his tongue hang out, the very picture of innocence.

Hanzo snorted and pulled his lips back, narrowing his gaze into a sharp dagger. Jesse kept his head low, whining like he was a kicked puppy. Hanzo rolled his head over in a way only Hanzo could on four furry legs and trotted over to swipe a paw at Jesse’s ear.

Jesse yelped and sat up straight, towering over the smaller (though not by much) wolf with a determined pout. Hanzo tipped his head to him, making a sound not unlike pleased laughter if they were capable of it. Or maybe Hanzo was, just to show off.

He nodded his head to the side, pointing to the deep bush and growth covering the ground, bustling with night life ready to consume. Their scents caught up deep within him and all thoughts returned to the mantra.

_Hunt, fight, protect._

_Hunt. Hunt._ **_Hunt._ **

 

**0XX0**

 

The game was _on_.

Hanzo led the charge and Jesse dutifully followed close behind, staying on path with the downwind. They went after the smaller prey first: birds, mice, squirrels they could probably swallow in one bite, but it was enough to warm them up to the challenge, get blood dripping off their fangs and spur them on further into the night.

Jesse kept up a constant quick pace, barely slowing down to turn corners or change direction, in order to avoid stumbling over his missing limb. He still wasn't as quick as Hanzo, but found his jaw stronger to pierce through even the thickest skin. It made an interesting system between them; Hanzo would rush ahead, catching almost anything in his path and dragging out their dying breaths. Then Jesse would grant them a mercy with one swift flash of his fangs and they could feast.

But these small meals weren't enough, not for beasts of their calibre. No matter how much they caught and fed on, it did nothing to satisfy the deep dwelling hunger. Jesse’s skin twitched, and he could see Hanzo bouncing on his paws for more; they needed to aim higher.

Hanzo took them further up the mountain, where grass gave way to rock and trees thinned out between the winding bends of the river. They steered clear of the water and made their way to a slope covered in flat rocks, small bumps poking out of the pattern. The wolves stayed downwind, hiding themselves behind a trunk to watch the turf. Hanzo put his paw over Jesse’s jittering one, keeping close and stared out with all intent.

Moments passed and Jesse was about to remove himself when he saw it: the whiskered nose poking out of the rock mound, followed by a head and upper body. They were watching a marmot burrow.

Jesse stole a quick glance to Hanzo; he was lowering down, hiding from sight, intensely focused on the emerging creature. He slowly crawled away, ears pinned to the prey. Jesse didn’t move, only watching the marmot pull itself onto the surface and sniff around. The rodents were fast lil’ bastards and too close to the burrow for him to be any good; he’d need to work around, maybe force the rest of the sprawl out of their hiding place if he could find a good spot.

A loud cry pulled Jesse’s attention away to the west, source hidden by the receding bush and treeline. He perked his ears up, standing still. The cry morphed into a gaggle of squawks and Jesse’s hunger reared its ugly head once more.

Hanzo was further away, waiting for the sprawl to scurry away from the safety of their burrow. He could handle a few rodents of unusual size on his own while Jesse caught them an extra meal. He’d be quick about it to; Hanzo would never notice he was even gone!

With his mind made up, Jesse sneaked off to follow the cries and airy scent that passed by on the breeze. He got to the shallow end of the river and saw the commotion causing the noise. A desperate fox was trying to get around a small creche of geese, a few fiercely protecting a gaggle of young goslings. They kept biting and snapping their wings at the starving hunter, preventing it from getting to its prey, but it persisted in keeping them away from their watery escape.

A scent passed on the wind and Jesse caught it. He froze upon recognising it, and his too human heart ached; She was a mother.

He caught the whine in his throat before it could escape and he set his mouth in a thin line, plan already forming in his head. He moved slowly along the grass, ears twitching with every new sound as he came out into the open. The geese turned instantly and the squawking was all on him.

Jesse stood up to full height, flattening his ears and nudging himself forward towards the creche. They charged at him, biting and snapping him away. They couldn’t do much harm to him anyway, but he still dodged their attacks as best as he could, leading the protectors away from the gaggle and fox. One large bird rushed up to him, flapping wings and angry cries in his face. A flash of fangs was all it took to jump into action.

In a move he knew would even impress his packmate, Jesse leapt forward and sunk his fangs into the gander’s thick neck, mangling it into pieces. It dropped dead on the ground and he shot over to the next in the second before the creche burst into a blind panic. They scattered to the river, enemies forgotten, as Jesse gave chase and snapped his jaws at the ones closest to him before they ran out of reach.

Just as quick, it was all over and Jesse was left in the middle of a bloody feathery mess beyond comprehension. He licked his lips, spitting out loose feathers and shaking his fur loose before glancing around the area. It was empty, save for him and the vixen eyeing the dead geese with a rumbling stomach from afar. He looked at his kills and took the smaller goose for himself, knowing that it’d be enough along with Hanzo’s new catch.

With his meal in tow and blood running freely, Jesse lumbered back the way he came. He twisted his ears to listen to the pleased yap of a mother’s job done and his humanity peeked through again to smile.

It came back when he stumbled upon Hanzo with his snout stuck in a burrow entrance and struggling to free himself from the trap. Oh, how he wished he could laugh and cackle his way into Special Hell at the very image of pristine, regal, oh-so very honourable Hanzo Shimada fighting with the dirt.

And losing.

Jesse came up to sit by the rock pile, goose hanging uselessly from his grip. Hanzo finally noticed him and grunted, pulling back enough that Jesse could see his teeth clamped around a small bleeding leg still attached to a body trying to escape. He huffed through his nose and swatted the other’s ear with the goose’s webbed foot. Hanzo squinted his eyes at him, half way to growling before he let go of the poor tormented creature and sat up properly.

Jesse scanned over the deep scratches and bite marks scattered over Hanzo’s nose and muzzle, giving him a quizzical look as he licked his lips to clean up as much blood as he could. It didn’t do much but make Jesse’s breath hitch and thump his tail on the ground. Hanzo raised his brows at him, studying the state of the goose. It wasn’t much, but it’d do for now.

Jesse tilted the bird to Hanzo, prompting him to take it himself. Hanzo blinked, looking between the two. Jesse whined and repeated himself, tongue hanging out once Hanzo took the food. Neither moved, just staring at each other in the low light as life moved on around them. Hanzo flickered his eyes around and then rubbed his cheek against Jesse’s in a silent thanks.

Hanzo moved away as quickly as he shot and Jesse was left with a dumbfounded look only a wolf could muster. A bark from the alpha got him walking again, following with a closeness he would deny the next day.

His hunger didn’t return.

 

**0XX0**

 

Shifting back to two legs and a running mouth took a lot longer than Jesse expected it to, with Hanzo only being able to advise him to not rush the process and to start with the most painful parts. He spent about half a day as a literal man-wolf only able to bark at the archer to stop him from looking so smug.

Soon enough his face was back to its normal shape and furriness, and he praised all deities once he was able to reattach his arm. The buzz of nerves made him smile and flexing his fingers all in one go got him relaxed enough to relay his memories of the full moon to Hanzo.

“…an’ it was the damndest thing, but I coulda sworn I was entirely human in that moment. No wolf tellin’ me to kill whatever moved or frighten her outta your territory.” Jesse rested his head on the back of the couch, peering over into the kitchen to watch Hanzo pick up apples.

“That’s an improvement.” Hanzo commented as he made his way back, throwing an apple to Jesse.

He caught it and took a big bite, savouring the sweet juices before swallowing and continuing. “I’ll say! So, I killed a couple of the critters an’ left one for her ‘fore I got back to you. Couldn’ rest easy knowin’ a bunch of kits were starving and I could do somethin’ to help.”

“A noble cause, if ineffective.”

Jesse whipped his neck around to stare wide-eyed at Hanzo as he sat down on the other end of the couch, biting into his own apple with no care to the sudden change in mood. Jesse furrowed his brow, pursing his lips.

“Why’s that?”

Hanzo swallowed his bite and looked over to him, eyebrows raised but eyes searching. Jesse gave him nothing. He cleared his throat and sat back, civil.

“If she was so desperate for food to go against a creche of geese, instead of something within her natural diet, then what good was that kill you made in the long run?” Jesse raised an eyebrow and sat up, leaning against the back of the couch as Hanzo continued. “What’s to say that she and her kits won’t starve to death once that food runs out and she fails to hunt again? If she couldn’t do it now, then how could she in the future?”

Jesse tried to fight back the smile forcing its way onto his face, but Hanzo caught it anyway so he relented. He ran his free hand through his hair and shook his head, far away memories coming to surface after so long. He took a deep breath, fingers tapping away at the apple skin without a thought.

“I remember when I used t’ think the same way, an’ it’s such a cynical viewpoint, darlin’.” Back in Deadlock, where is was everyone for themselves; kill or be killed. He’d been so selfish back then. “Maybe yer right, maybe not, but sometimes that lil’ bit of kindness can keep ya goin’ until you can do it for yourself. If we all thought your way, well darlin’ no one would help anyone. It’d be a hopeless world.”

He took another bite out of his apple, chewing slowly as he looked at nothing in particular. He felt the couch shift weight around and he pulled his legs up to cross them, only to glance aside and find Hanzo curling his up by the cushions. He couldn’t read his expression, but the glint in his eyes was one he’d seen before, on other people. That crease in his brow, the tilt of his mouth, and the way his sharp cheeks subtly filled out, however, were all a mystery to him on Hanzo. To a black ops agent like him, it was both infuriating and captivating.

But he’d always liked a challenge.

“I feel compelled to say, McCree: you are a good man.” Hanzo admitted, voice too soft for the sharp angles of his face. Jesse felt the heat rush to his own and ducked it to his chin, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Naw, I ain’t a good man, Hanzo.” He chuckled and rolled his neck, staring down at the apple. “I’m not a bad man either. We got plenty of both kinds in the world, so I jus’ try to be a kind one.”

“Let me rephrase.” Jesse lifted his head up, seeing Hanzo’s small smile spread. He smiled back. “You are a fascinating man, Jesse McCree.”

He snorted out a short laugh and pulled his hat over his reddening face. “Thank ya kindly, darlin’.”

They settled into a not-completely-uncomfortable silence, resting on their respective couch arm and finishing off their apples. They didn’t move, only catching each other’s eye and then looking away to avoid the awkwardness, which only made it far more awkward. Jesse licked his lips as he tried to think of something - anything! - that could pull them away from the edge of the pit of regrettable tension. The couch shifted its weight again and Jesse buried himself into the cushions at his back in response, mind wandering.

Safe topics, safe topics…

Was there any more he could ask Hanzo about shifting? Or just their conditions in general? The archer had given him a rundown on the days coming up to the full moon, but it wasn’t a complete guide. Just enough to get him through that one night and future moons.

(Huh, if only there were more werewolves. He’d make a killing writing a book like that for them.

Maybe Joel could add it to the blog as a Halloween joke this year.)

He’d have to leave soon. Their agreement in Poland only covered this one moon, to make sure Jesse stayed safe and didn't accidentally hurt any innocents. To trade information and share with each other what they knew about their unique kind. They were hardly done with that half of the deal, but he couldn't overstay his welcome. Hanzo had done enough to put a roof over his sorry head already, as well as deal with his dumb flirting (oh God, never again, although Hanzo _did_ flirt back, so...).

Maybe the archer would be willing to give him a number to message, to keep in touch and remind each other they weren't alone in the world. Though… that definitely went beyond any intentions they started out with.

“Do you have any jobs to get to?” Jesse turned to Hanzo, who was tapping his fingers against his knees and looking far too uncertain for the man he knew.

Jesse thought about it, pursing his lips, and came up blank. “Uh, no actually. Nothin’ on this side of the pond worth my time at the moment.”

Any jobs calling for his attention were back in the States, but they could wait ‘til he found a secure way across the Atlantic. Europe and all connecting continents were just traps, empty promises of payment, or work that he couldn’t find in himself to agree with. It left his wallet feeling too light for too long, but he had to stand by his morals. With his luck, he’d hit gold again soon enough, no need to worry.

Hanzo nodded and bit his lip before sitting up, confidence flowing back into his stance. There he was.

“I'm currently staying underground until it is safe for my alias to return to the field.” He explained, the words ‘Shimada assassins’ hanging off the sentence silently. They didn't need explanation. “And judging by what you told me, you still have a few things to work out about your shifting. I would be happy to help you.”

“Are… are you invitin’ me t’ stay, Hanzo?” A cunning smirk filled up Jesse’s face. Hanzo’s lips twitched but he still came off unimpressed.

“Perhaps.”

Jesse laughed and kicked out a leg to poke Hanzo’s with. “No need t’ be a sour puss, darlin’. Wasn’t like I was gonna refuse the offer.”

Hanzo curled away from the offending leg, throwing a look of surprise to him.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Jesse rolled back his shoulders, still poking Hanzo with his foot if only because it was fun to watch him try to wriggle away without falling off the couch. “I still got kinks to work out, an’ I’d like to sort ‘em out with someone watchin’ my back. If nothin’ else, I trust ya on that, darlin’.”

It was true. The full moon had proved to him that Hanzo meant what he’d said about staying loyal to a fellow wolf. Not that he was the type of guy to distrust ‘til proven otherwise, but a confirmation sure helped put things in perspective for him. He could trust a wolf about wolf things.

“Good, I’m glad.” Amber flashed across Hanzo’s eyes and Jesse almost missed the smirk that passed by. “I know who else is too.”

“What you me—” Two bodies of white fur and a startled yell cut him off, sending him off the couch and crashing to the floor in a heap. Jesse wrangled around, trying to push two very excited spirits off him, to no avail.

Hanzo laughed, the bastard.

 _You’re staying!_ Hachiko pushed into his face, licking him all over until he could push her off him enough to let him actually breath.

“Not for much longer if ya keep that up, Hachi!” Jesse coughed, which only spurred Hachiko to lick him again. He gently shoved her off and wiped at his face, even though she left no drool. Still felt disgustingly the same though.

 _We’re going to have such a great time, cub!_ Hachiko finally settled herself against his chest while Iwanko curled up on his legs, effectively pinning him down with no hopes of escape anytime soon. Or maybe at all if Hanzo kept cackling like that.

Jesse let out a long suffering sigh and relented, accepting his punishment for incurring the wrath of the okami. He flipped the bird at the wolf towering over him and got a ghostly paw up his nose. He just hoped the rest of his stay wouldn't be like this, but somehow he already had doubts about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went through a few versions in my head, but this final piece is the one I'm happiest with! Hope y'all enjoyed it, and thanks for commenting! Keep them coming
> 
> Updates might be slower as August approaches. I've got convention art to work on, as well as zine art for the McHanzo zine 'To Ashes' that I'm a part of! I'm also working on releasing a sketchzine at the end of the year, but that's still early stages. Hopefully it won't be months without an update, but don't be afraid to message me on my accounts if I seem to be too slow with them ^_~
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	8. How To Let You Go (Even Though You're Gone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're back to our (somewhat) regularly scheduled updates! Thanks again to Autocon_21 for being the best beta and motivating me these last few weeks as I fought Con Flu to get this chapter out to you readers! Also thanks to nedstark for being a lovely friend and inspiring me all the damn time <3 (Please go read 'Modern Courtships' if you haven't already, it's one of my favourite McHanzo fics and inspired a few scenes in this chapter!)

Due to the mutually agreed upon continuation of the ‘training’, Hanzo made the decision that rules had to be put in place in order for some form of civilisation to thrive in their corner of the wilderness. McCree laughed but shared his sentiments, announcing their first rule: ‘No one dominates the bed’.

This was quickly rephrased to ‘Neither Hanzo nor McCree has complete ownership of the bed space. Frequent swapping must be permitted’. This was simply written down to ‘need a bed schedule’, which was left to fester untouched on account of Hanzo not wanting to force his guest to sleep on the couch or floor. 

(Nevermind that McCree told him that he’d slept like a baby in worse crap shacks; he was hosting a guest, old habits demanded he treat the gunslinger properly and left the first rule completely ineffective. His pride dictated it so.)

Hanzo himself stuck to his routine of sleeping outside in wolf form until it came back to bite him in the way of a late spring thunderstorm. What little forecasts they got out in the middle of nowhere told them that it would stop raining in a few days, leaving them trapped indoors barring the occasional hunting trip or collecting washing water. Hanzo eased Jesse’s concerns by taking up the couch, but by the third night it refused to home him anymore and instead gave him knots all over his back.

_ We weren’t meant to live like this, _ Hachiko groaned as she rolled over onto her back, bumping against the cold fire gate with her hind legs.

Iwanko stood over his sister, trying to paw at their shared ache to no avail. After the upteenth time of stretching and rolling muscles, he glared at their master.

Hanzo, watching from his position laid out on the floor by the couch and coffee table, merely shrugged as best as he could and went back to morphing into a stiff ball of lumpy clay. He could live the rest of his days in this very spot without trouble. It would be a short life, but it was better than moving a single inch and igniting the pain again.

Heavy footsteps made him turn his head toward the kitchen door, where McCree’s bare, Hobbit-like feet padded out to greet him.

“How’s the view there?” McCree asked, smile evident in his warm tone even if Hanzo couldn’t see it.

“I should be the one asking you that.” He tilted his head back into place, catching McCree staring down at him with a sparkle in his eyes. It was a good look on him, as were the well-worn jeans and tight undershirt.

Iwanko thumped his tail against his chest, growling his annoyance. Hachiko scooted aside, tongue hanging out.

McCree lowered himself onto the wooden floor, ignoring the wolves’ whines as he took up the space next to Hanzo. Once he was down flat, he rested his laced fingers on his chest and hummed. 

“I can see the appeal of this place.” Hanzo snorted and huffed, covering up any chuckle that wanted to come through. He crossed his arms over his stomach, suddenly feeling underdressed in his old sweats and muscle shirt but quickly disregarded that train of thought when he remembered that McCree had been with him through much lower moments. He could get away with wearing his old kyudo-gi if he wanted and he doubted McCree would think much of it beyond a handful of jokes.

Maybe more of the terrible flirting that made him laugh if he slipped a sleeve off.

Hanzo glanced over to his wolves, finding them squeezing themselves between McCree and the fireplace, and let out a soft sigh. 

“I’m guessin’ this is what happens when heathens like us don’ follow the rules set in place, huh?”

“Jesse McCree, if you’re trying to insinuate that this is my fault, I am already painfully aware.”

McCree laughed softly, sending vibrations through the wooden floor and every sound making his shoulders shudder. Hanzo couldn’t help but watch, raising an eyebrow in a dare when McCree caught his eye. He raised one back, quirking his lips up in a smirk that showed a sharp canine over his lip. If he noticed Hanzo staring, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he shifted into an all too knowing look and Hanzo braced himself with the most tired glare he could muster.

“Y’know what would help your back?” McCree sat up a bit, taunting Hanzo with that smug smile and simple ability to move effortlessly at the moment. “A good night’s sleep in your own bed.”

Hanzo pulled his crossed arms tighter together, barely fighting back the cranky, stubborn streak coursing through him. “It’s not  _ my  _ bed, it came with the cabin.”

McCree scoffed, shooting him an unimpressed look that Iwanko mirrored behind him. He could hear Hachiko shuffling around, then saw her golden eyes peek over McCree’s body. Traitors.

“You know I’m right, so don’ get sassy with me, Hanzo.” McCree rolled up onto his feet, stretching his arms back. The undershirt hugged his muscles in a way Hanzo very much appreciated.

Iwanko swatted his arm and yapped at him, almost pouting at his master. Hanzo flicked his nose, twitching his own at the brief sting shared. 

‘ _ I do not need your opinion, thank you _ .’ Iwanko shook his head and sat up, still pouting as best he could. 

_ We all may like him, for one reason or another, _ Iwanko threw a pointed look at Hanzo who dutifully ignored it,  _ but we have bigger priorities at the moment _ .

Hanzo rolled his eyes, squashing down the wince that came from the minute movement of his shoulders, and huffed through his nose. He didn’t need either of his companion’s thoughts on his private matters, especially concerning his attraction to a certain gunslinger. He wasn’t a young teenager blind to his feelings anymore; he knew what he felt with the utmost confidence, but he also knew the reality of the situation. Sooner or later, he and McCree would part ways and most likely never see each other again, so there was no point in nurturing the attraction into anything more significant.

He could at least take comfort in the fact that McCree knew this as well and acted on it, despite how obvious he was in his thoughts towards Hanzo. There had been enough bad flirting jokes to make that clear between them. 

Not that he minded them; being able to laugh like that helped him feel more human some days. 

Hanzo snapped back to attention when the shadow of McCree’s bulk fell over him, the other wolf standing tall at his feet with a smile that was anything but innocent.

“What?” Hanzo demanded, narrowing his eyes in his best attempt to threaten McCree. By the way his cheek twitched and smile grew, he wasn’t successful.

“If yer not gonna go into  _ your  _ bed by yourself, then I gotta take measures.” He bent down by the knee, hands reaching out to Hanzo’s ankles like they were an easily spooked woodland creature.

_ Oh no. _

“Don’t you dare—!” Hanzo pulled his legs up to his chest, curling up protectively when his back suddenly reminded him why he was laid out flat to begin with. A sharp jolt of pain spasmed up his spine and he cursed loudly. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as it spread out, vines of discomfort taking root all over him.

The couch had succeeded where dozens of assassins had failed.

He was going to burn it.

Warm hands hovered over his arm and he cracked open an eye. McCree knelt beside him, apologies written all over his face as he crept closer. He gently patted his shoulder and then quickly ran that hand through his own hair.

“Shit, I didn’t mean t’ do that, Hanzo. You gon’ be okay?”

Hanzo closed his eye again and slowly rolled a shoulder. The pain was beginning to ebb away, but not enough that he could unfurl himself without consequence. It would take him much longer to get over.

“I’ll survive.” He answered curtly, opening his eyes again in time to see McCree shake his head with a silent laugh.

“You need a mattress, darlin’.” The look Hanzo gave him sent McCree laughing again, but not long enough to knock him off track. 

“You need it too. That couch is unfit for anything that isn’t a vertical position.” Hanzo grumbled, glaring daggers at the couch in hopes that it would burst into flame. It didn’t.

“This ain’t somethin’ we should be arguing over; bed’s big enough for the both of us.” 

_ Oh  _ **_no_ ** _. _

He must’ve said something aloud, judging by the shift in McCree’s expression to one of frustrated confusion.

“I’m not naive enough to believe that won’t lead to us waking up in a compromised position, which would only serve to make our living situation too awkward to maintain.” Hanzo set his mouth and gaze flat, refusing to back down despite social convention. McCree’s eyes widened and his face flushed ever so slightly, just enough for Hanzo to see and take note. 

But then that wicked smirk came back and Hanzo was left in that same confusion.

“Aha, I was but the learner, now I am the master!” McCree laughed, voice booming and filling the room with a warmth one could only compare to a setting sun. Iwanko and Hachiko sat to attention, watching him with rapt curiosity.

Hanzo furrowed his brow and frowned. “Don’t quote Star Wars at me, McCree.”

“You’ve seen Star Wars?” The smirk stayed and he playfully wagged his eyebrows. Hanzo barely held back from flicking his nose as well.

“It’s a beloved, century-long franchise worth billions, of course I’ve seen it.” McCree’s expression stayed, almost daring him to believe his own lie. If the gunslinger could see past him, he was either much smarter than he had let on or Hanzo’s form was slipping; neither were acceptable. “I had to see how the American remake held up to Hidden Fortress. It didn’t.”

“But ya seen it enough times to recognise a quote?”

Hanzo adjusted himself to face McCree more fully, aches prodding at him for the uninvited movement, and twitching his lips up satisfyingly. If he wanted to play this game, Hanzo wasn’t about to let him win so easily.

“And you’ve seen it enough times to quote it verbatim?”

The smirk fell. Hanzo’s grew. McCree crossed his arms to mirror him, shaking his head in a most disappointed manner. Which, on McCree, wasn’t so much disappointment than the reluctant admittance of defeat.

“Back to the point I was makin’, Mister Smug Pants.” McCree cleared his throat, tapping his prosthetic fingers against his bicep. Hanzo had a feeling that he’d be hiding under the brim of his hat if it hadn’t been perched atop his pelt as a joke earlier today. “I already thought this through: there’s no danger of spoonin’-”

“ _ McCree _ .”

“-if I take guard duty t’night in the ol’ wolf form.”

Hanzo blinked once, twice, and then shook his head. “What?”

“You know, at the foot of the bed, old fashioned country style.” He sat back to cross his legs, leaning forward with that shy smile Hanzo cursed himself for liking that bit too much. It made him look open and friendly, almost trustworthy. 

(He was, but not to the extent he was reaching for.)

“We both know that I need t’ practice shiftin’ an’ getting control. This is a great chance to test myself, y’know?” He pressed his hands together, almost begging. Hanzo watched him, pursing his lips. Why was the gunslinger pushing for this so much? Hanzo had been in much worse shape than this before; he expected McCree, with a life similar to his, to know this already. What did he gain from this endeavour? 

_ Maybe it’s because he cares about your comfort as well? _ Hachiko wormed her way up to his side, planting her head on his gut. She whined, shining her big puppy eyes at them.

_ Hang up your pride and let us sleep on the bed _ , Iwanko grumbled as he joined Hachiko, glaring and sending out more ripples of irritation across their bond. Hanzo narrowed his eyes back at the spirit; no wonder he’d been so surly and stubborn. It was sometimes easy to forget how much they influenced each other, especially when they so often worked on the same wavelength. Today was not one of those days, however.

Hanzo focused back on McCree. He was still pleading with those soft browns of his, trying every approach to get his host to concede. Hanzo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“If I agree, will you drop the matter?” 

“That’s how it works, darlin’.” McCree chuckled, dropping his hands to his lap and smiling so warmly it heated Hanzo’s face up. He felt his wolves curl up beside him, loud whines ringing around them like a never-ending choir of complaining.

“Fine.” Hanzo closed his eyes, resisting the urge to roll them. A hand clapped him on the shoulder and Hachiko pressed her nose into his muscle. Iwanko prodded at him to get moving.

“After this, we gotta start enforcin’ the cabin rules a lil’ more strongly, huh?” McCree moved up onto his feet, staying close. “No matter what you think is best, which is ironic considerin’ you were the one that suggested rules in the first place.”

“I know, please don’t remind me.” He rested his forehead on the floor, now warm from the close bodies lying on it for the better part of an hour. 

“Can ya get up an’ walk to the room?” 

Hanzo opened his eyes and slowly stretched out his legs. His back didn’t protest to it, a good sign. He gently rolled himself onto his back, the hard press against the soreness releasing a content sigh. A roll of the shoulder told him he still had a long night to get through before his back could recover fully.

He loosened his arms, unfurling them from his core, but the echo of his father’s voice stopped him from reaching out.

_ A Shimada dominates, controls every situation, and radiates the power to make anyone bend the knee. _

_ You, most of all, are above help. _

McCree watched him, leaning against the couch on one arm as the other hovered in the air between them. A perfect reflection of his own uncertainty, from the man who saw through his name to find the lone wolf. To whom the name did not mean more than his fellow kind’s health.

On the edge of survival, a pack together was strong and unbreakable. Reliance on outsiders was never needed.

A lone wolf had nothing else to fall onto other than Death’s cold embrace. That was  _ not  _ an option.

Hanzo took hold of McCree’s arm and tightened his grip. McCree held on and gradually lifted him onto his feet, his other hand resting on Hanzo’s back to hold him steady. He groaned and held onto McCree, glaring at the cursed couch from his towering position. It still didn’t burn.

“Ya ever think to stop blaming the couch an’ just admit you’re real friggin’ old, darlin’?” McCree mused as he walked Hanzo around the couch, rubbing his hand over his back. Iwanko and Hachiko walked ahead, leaving them alone.

“You insult me, McCree.”

“I’m just sayin’, you already got a few white hairs growin’ in—” Hanzo elbowed McCree in the gut, cutting him off with a groan and breathless laugh. He held onto Hanzo tightly, nearly pulling him down in his stuttered walk to meet the floor again. Hanzo huffed, brushing loose silver strands over his shoulder in a vain attempt to get his mane under control.

“I’m sure yer still young where it matters, Han.” McCree recovered, standing tall and winking with the charismatic energy that hung onto him like there was nowhere better to be.

“I should’ve aimed lower.” But he was smiling, without shame, and he knew McCree’s yelp was nothing to be taken seriously, unlike his well wishes for a good night’s rest and a better morning for the both of them.

As he lay on a bed that had no business being as comfortable as it was, Hanzo mused among ethereal company curling up at his sides. The all too simple event that landed him here brought on a train of thought he had not pursued in many years, too trodden by grief and his own ego to get further than an unyielding ‘no’ molded into him by years of training and wiser words than his. But now, he believed, his pride would eventually heal for the better.

 

**0XX0**

 

The next rule to be added to The List came into effect after a long afternoon of what McCree liked to call ‘vintage bad jokes’. It started innocently, as a way to distract Hanzo during weapons training and make him miss the target, but quickly devolved into a one-man contest to see what terrible, awful joke would make the stoic archer falter into a heap of his own laughter.

Hanzo held out well for the early hours, chuckling at the few smart play on words that snuck through every now and then (the fsssshhh was a particularly funny one that made him snort, he remembered fondly).

But then McCree got to the  _ puns _ .

_ Our biggest weakness!  _ Even Hachiko, ever the fun lover when she wasn’t lecturing about personal safety, couldn’t stand up against them. Iwanko crumbled almost immediately, and with both wolves incapacitated with laughter, Hanzo didn’t trust himself to speak openly to McCree.

So, he cornered himself to his armchair to wallow in silence and banished McCree to the kitchen to work on some form of dinner.

 

_ [[BL: Unknown; 18:46]] _

__ _ darlin, what’s a Jedi’s fav italian dessert?? _

_ [[BL: Okami Agent; 18;48]] _

__ _ CEASE _

__ _ I will shoot you in the eye. _

_ [[BL: Unknown; 18:48]] _

__ _ obi-wan CANNOLI !! _

 

Hanzo fully regretted giving McCree a contact number, for now there was a long chain of ridiculous messages between burner phones chipping away at whatever remained of Hanzo’s composure and resolve. 

He hid his mouth behind a hand and glanced over to the kitchen door. McCree was out of sight but obviously up to no good. Yet somehow, dinner was smelling amazing. Of course such a multitasker was also a diabolical mastermind plotting to ruin Hanzo’s capability to do anything today.

Yet here he was, deliberately opening the messages and reading them despite knowing so much better. Old habits kicking in again, he supposed as a frown settled and his brow creased.

_ “Aniki, you’ve always been the self-destructive type. You’ll blow your own head off at this rate!” _

The phone beeped. He opened the text.

 

_ [[BL: Unknown; 19:09]] _

__ _ There was an explosion at a French cheese factory _

__ _ de-brie everywhere! _

 

Hanzo pressed his lips together and looked over to the kitchen again. McCree leant against the doorframe, phone in hand, and watching him studiously. He smiled when he caught Hanzo’s eye and went back to the phone.

 

_ [[BL: Unknown; 19:09]] _

__ _ A man walks into a bar. _

__ _ His alcohol dependency is tearing his family apart.  _

 

He bit down hard on his tongue as he glanced between the message and the man responsible for it. McCree, without an ounce of shame, wagged his eyebrows at him. Hanzo’s frown tugged down but even he couldn’t deny the impulsive twitch in his cheek growing stronger. He typed away, not daring to tear his glare away from McCree.

 

_ [[BL: Okami Agent; 19;11]] _

__ _ You are the worst. _

 

McCree held his gaze for a moment, then read the message. He laughed and bit down on his bottom lip as he texted away. Not that Hanzo was watching; he had a glare to keep strong.

 

_ [[BL: Unknown; 19:16]] _

__ _ betcha won’t say that to my face _

 

McCree looked back up, meeting the intense glare head on without a sweat or wince. A challenge proposed.

 

_ [[BL: Unknown; 19:17]] _

__ _ btw dinner’s ready _

 

The gunslinger slipped away into the kitchen once more, but Hanzo didn’t miss the sly grin breaking out over his face. Iwanko and Hachiko’s laughter was a distant sound rumbling in the back of his mind, too distracted to come any closer and endanger him. If they stayed like that, eating in the same room as McCree would hopefully be a dull affair and maybe he could say a few things with a straight face.

Stepping into the kitchen seemed to confirm such thoughts. McCree was leaning against the counter, gently blowing on his plate of steaming food and poking it with a spoon. Another plate was beside him, fork waiting to dig in. He really needed to get more utensils if this was going to carry on.

McCree watched as Hanzo took his plate and stood beside him, stirring the food around. It was nothing extravagant, just rice mixed in with squirrel, goose and peppers with thin layers of sauces all over. An interesting palette but dinner nonetheless.

“Soooo?” McCree nudged him with his elbow, eyebrows playfully dancing on his forehead. Hanzo sighed, staring down at his food. Think of dead puppies, spoiled milk, mother’s stern glare… 

“You,” he started, voice unwavering. He lifted his fork and eyes to point them at McCree. “Are the  _ worst _ .”

“A’right, you got me there.” 

They went back to eating, letting the silence fill the small spaces between them once again. The meal wasn’t terrible or even bad, but the evidence of improvisation was certainly strong in the strange mix of flavours and textures. 

Nevertheless, it would serve to fill their stomachs for another day. They could shift tomorrow and track down that family of boars that sometimes trekked through his territory. Even just one of them would feed them for days, provided he could convince McCree to eat the less savoury innards of the beast.

“So, a gorilla walks int’ a bar and orders a banana martini.” Speak of the devil. Hanzo looked up, spotting the impish grin.

Oh great.

“The bartender thinks this is a lil’ peculiar an’ then becomes aware that he’s actually dreamin’.” He slowed down his chewing. Why did this sound familiar?

“He wakes up from his dream and begins to tell his wife ‘bout the ridiculous dream he had.” Oh God not this one, no no no no no.

Hanzo almost spat out his mouthful, holding a hand to his mouth to hold back the choking. He quickly swallowed, coughing harshly into his fist. Bursts of laughter snuck in between wheezes and it took all his willpower not to drop his plate.

“McCree, don’t—!”

“His wife ignores him, the man rolls over an’ begins to sob ‘cause he realises his marriage is in shambles!”

He couldn’t hold back. He doubled over, clutching his gut and shaking without a sound coming out. He inhaled sharply, only to let it out again as a poor imitation of a guffaw. Iwanko and Hachiko joined him with their giggles, turning the terrible joke into a just-as-terrible cycle of ugly release.

A familiar hand on his shoulder sobered Hanzo enough for him to stand up straight again. He wiped at his mouth and inhaled deeply, lungs and stomach throbbing in a not-unpleasant way. Iwanko and Hachiko collected themselves, retreating to their own corner of his mind and effectively leaving him alone with the source of their outburst. McCree clapped him on the back, peering down at Hanzo with that tender smile he was still not accustomed to.

(He didn’t deserve it.)

“Doesn’t that feel better now, huh?”

A fork appeared at the end of his nose, poking dangerously close to stabbing the appendage. Brown eyes met, open versus narrow. Sauce dripped onto the floor. No one moved.

“No more bad jokes, McCree, or  _ else _ .”

McCree blinked, pulling back from the potential weapon. “Should I add that to the rule list?”

“Yes, thank yo—”

“I will once ya stop laughin’ at ‘em.” 

Hanzo shot McCree his most unimpressed look, gaze hardening as the gunslinger brushed it off and went back to eating like he hadn’t just promised a thousand more headaches in the near future. That same smile lingered, though Hanzo couldn’t figure out why at that moment. That wouldn’t do, but that wasn’t his priority at that moment.

The ghosts, for one night, were driven far from his thoughts, and the rule was eventually added, with some exceptions.

 

**0XX0**

 

**_Topics To Avoid:_ **

 

  * __Shimada__


  * _Blackwatch/Reyes_


  * _Trigun v. NGE_


  * _Early days_


  * _Westworld_


  * _Swordsmanship_


  * _Turkish Coffee_


  * _Hidden Fortress_


  * _Lynching_



 

 

**0XX0**

 

_ Bttzzzz! _

Ears shot up, pointing to all directions. White paws swatted them back into place.

_ Bttzzzz! _

McCree whined in the back of his throat. Hanzo huffed and nudged his head up, looking him in the eye as fur grew over his long muzzle and nose pressed in closer for company.

_ Bttzzzz! _

Hanzo growled, sparing a glare for the burner phone hidden in McCree’s pile of discarded clothes. He’d insisted on bringing it out to their training session for, quote, ‘emergencies’. The logic of such was beyond him, but he allowed it to keep McCree quiet and happy.

The phone continued to buzz, grating away at Hanzo’s senses. He flattened his ears, focusing on McCree’s shifting. He’d been making good progress over the sessions, upgrading from slow, painful transitions to somewhat hasty, almost numb shifting. For someone so set in unhealthy mechanisms, McCree kept surprising Hanzo with his skill to adapt and learn so quickly. With how often it happened, he was trying to apply his own advice of leaving expectations at the door, but even that didn’t stop the moments of awe from creeping in.

Hanzo looked to McCree, more than halfway to full form, and nudged his forehead with his nose in a silent order to stay. He padded off a good distance before changing back to human form, stretching his arms over his head and walking over to the pile. He pulled the phone out, revealing an alert from an unknown number, message hidden.

“Do you want me to read it out to you?”

Bark.

“Alright, listen carefully.” Hanzo cleared his throat and opened the message. “‘Suppliers hit Tarifa coast, hired hands using the Straits Bridge for extortion. Authorities blackmailed to keep under wraps, outside contact cut off.’”

A warmth pushed against his back and Hanzo instinctively reached back to press his hand to McCree’s ears. He slipped his fully formed head through the crook of Hanzo’s arm to peer down at his phone.

“‘Limited time, they will leave once they have the money. Come ASAP, Gunslinger.’ A job, I take it?”

McCree narrowed his eyes, sticking his black lip out. He pulled away, taking his warmth and company with him. Hanzo kept his attention on the message, silently musing. The tone of familiarity suggested an old, long job surfacing again, but the wording and pace all pointed to the urgency of the situation. A nagging curiosity lurked, wanting to uncover the mysteries of the cowboy and just what he was getting himself into, but something bigger took over his mind:

Their time was over.

This was the end.

(He wasn’t ready.)

“‘Bout time I got a new lead on that.” 

Hanzo jumped, nearly dropping the phone, and kept his gaze skyward. A most certainly naked McCree breezed by him, hopefully grabbing his pants and ending his indecency. Hanzo did  _ not  _ need that image seared into his brain and shared with his wolves at the moment, or ever.

_ Too late _ , Iwanko chuckled.

‘ _ Do not _ .’ Hanzo huffed as the wolves laughed away, glaring at the blissfully ignorant canopies. Oh how wonderful it would be to join them and be free of taunting handsome cowboys, with his— 

Wait.

“McCree, how did you shift so quickly?” He asked in a single breath, closing his eyes to move his head.

“Uh, I don’t reckon I know.” He stayed close, shuffling around. “I was in a rush to get the phone back, so I jus’… did.”

“And?” Hanzo stroked and twisted the frayed ends of his moustache, frown deepening.

“An’ what, darlin’?”

“Did it hurt? Was it numb like before or can you still feel it?”

“Felt it, but it was more, smooth I guess?” The movement stopped a couple steps away. “A few cracks, but most like, melted butter I ‘spose. Best way I can describe it, really.”

Hanzo hummed, resting his chin in his palm. Once again, expectations were shattered and he was cursing himself. A giant breakthrough in his training, motivated by  _ leaving _ .

“Good, that’s… good.” And he meant it. This day had been long coming, and McCree being so far in his training was a sign he was ready to go. If the call had come any earlier, he wouldn’t have had the confidence to safely let McCree go. He didn’t like it (didn’t want it), but it was needed. The job was a serious one that couldn’t be ignored or even delayed for his own feelings.

The jingling of spurs stirred Hanzo back to reality and he turned around to face McCree.

Shirtless.

Of course he would put his boots on before a shirt. That was McCree logic.

Hanzo held back a long suffering sigh and levelled McCree a look that did not dare to drift from his face. McCree, in his natural state, met the stare with a smirk and shrug.

“So I got teacher’s approval?”

“That’s ‘Hanzo-sensei’ to you,” McCree laughed through the soft bite of his tone. “But yes. I would recommend that you keep up the exercises in case today was a fluke; they should be enough to help you.”

“Will do.” McCree nodded, scratching the back of his neck and then shyly looking away. Metal hand on hip and he wouldn’t meet his eye. Where did his gunslinger go?

He opened his mouth to ask such, when McCree beat him to the punch.

“You wanna come with?” He looked back up, smile wide and too bashful for a man such as himself. “Just for the job, it’d be a good idea to have someone o’ yer caliber watchin’ my back, y’know? Make sure I ain’t at risk of hurtin’ myself with the shift ‘n’ all that…”

Rambling, opening and maskless. A rare sight for McCree to sport but one Hanzo was growing to favour. Still, even with the genuine appearance, it still stunk of excuses. Hanzo had a handful of guesses as to what they were and all bets were on them being the same as his own. Had his thoughts been so transparent?

Would McCree smell the liar in him if he refused?

He should, it was the smart thing to do.

“Are you really in such dire need of a babysitter?” The laughter hit him hard and he knew he’d miss that deep thunder soon enough. How long had he been like this?

“Only sometimes.” McCree grabbed his shirt and serape, slinging them over his shoulder. “You ready for some real hero work then?”

Maybe, maybe not; he’d have to find out and make the most of it. Either way, it was time to put his old skills to the test once again.

 

**0XX0**

 

Travelling across the European continent with Jesse McCree was a pleasantly dull affair, all things considered. Blending their methods of stowing away on hypertrains had taken some high risks (and almost gotten them caught at a station stop in Italy) but arriving in the southern lands of Spain made it all worth it. Hanzo rarely got to work in this half of Europe (his targets preferred to hide out in isolated buildings in the middle of grey cities surrounded by the pre-Crisis past), so he took the opportunity to appreciate the scenery between fits of sleep.

McCree himself seemed to thrive on the pre-job energy, staying on guard duty during the whole two day journey. The only time Hanzo caught him napping was on the long stretch between Vienna and Zürich, when his heavy head slipped onto Hanzo’s shoulder and he’d turned him away from the graveyard of a former life.

(Even after all this time, Overwatch’s old glory was still a sight to behold, even if for entirely different reasons in the modern day.)

The ride into the east side of the small town of Tarifa was spent in quick disguises brought in France with the little acceptable currency they had between them. Hanzo kept himself simple with a hoodie, sports cap, sunglasses and beach shorts to merge perfectly with the large tourist crowd and not rouse suspicion. McCree got a beach towel, straw hat, shorts, secondhand sandals, electric paint, and a spray can of hair dye.

The conversation in the service bathroom had been… 

(“You’re dyeing it  **_blonde_ ** ? Your hair’s too dark to make it convincing without bleaching.”

“Long as I keep the hat on, no one will look twice. I know what I’m doing, darlin’.”

“How will you do your beard? That can isn’t enough.”

“I’m shavin’, an’ you better trim too if ya don’t want anybody starin’ at yer ‘stache, Falcor.”

“…You really dug to the bottom of the barrel for that one, didn’t you?”

_ Give him the cone of shame! _

_ You can do better than that, McCree. _

“Both of you, hush. I’m workin’ with what I got!”)

…thought provoking.

To be fair, they were utterly unrecognisable and indiscernible from any other pair of tourists, forgettable to anybody who spared them a glance amongst the surfers and kite racers following their path. However, they also looked like a pair of idiots who had no idea what they were doing.

Their cover story, conjured up on an overnight bus ride to Estepona, was a short story of two friends (“I’m not fake-dating you, so don’t try suggesting it.”) enjoying a vacation of surf watching and bar hopping together. If anybody had to ask for anything deeper, they were a cover agent clearing suspicions for their boss. They were the people to track for later.

McCree’s contact had set them up with a cozy hotel room overlooking the green and golden mountainside to the north of town, near the middle of the populous yet with no claustrophobic dread hanging over them. The perfect vacation spot for their cover.

And also the perfect spot to watch the crowds and surrounding plazas for the members McCree needed to catch. Hanzo could already see five optimal sniper spots he could set up to get full view of the storage building the gang were apparently hiding their not-so-legal wares in.

Why they were here extorting locals and tourists for a bridge, and not travelling with their inventory was a question that hounded Hanzo, but that’s what McCree was here to find out and put an end to. They speculated that there was a buyer coming to the town and the bridge was simply a stupid way to get extra money. Maybe to pay the hired hands or support the blackmail silencing the law forces. It was all within the realm of possibility; Occam’s razor could apply to any, considering their combined experiences.

Having arrived and unpacked in the early afternoon, Hanzo and McCree were left with hours of daylight to take advantage of and use for their scouting needs. With Hanzo’s hood flipped up and McCree’s prosthetic shining cherry red, they went their separate ways with their burner phones keeping them connected.

Walking through crowds and watching the too obvious foreigners was easy enough for Hanzo and he sent plenty of text notes to his partner (or would it technically be boss since he was the one taking charge of this work?). There were a group of heavily armed men in fake uniforms patrolling the east end of town, ignored by everyone who didn’t know how to spot weapons hidden under jackets and waistbands. They stayed closed to the bridge, where activity was slow and almost non-existent on the Moroccan side.

Hanzo worried that the gang had spread, but McCree’s intel shot those out of the water; the port town the bridge opened up to was as bustling as any city, with little reason to ever cross over into Spain, as well as a police force less lenient towards threats. With that information stored away, this plan was either the work of a complete fool, or they had a fully formed strategy above the paygrade of McCree’s inside man.

Said man hadn’t been back in contact with McCree since crossing the border, so they were walking in mostly blind. It wasn’t something Hanzo liked on a job, but he’d adjust to McCree’s world quick enough.

Other than the bridge, McCree had guessed there would be goons hiding out in the shady pubs and bars or try blending in with locals at the beach front restaurants. And he was right. There was only a handful in all 200 square miles, so only a few were dotted throughout the customers, but they were enough to convince McCree that they were the same breed of dead-beats he’d been dealing with across the ocean (Hanzo could see a past bubbling over, but he didn’t elaborate on it beyond the fact he was in a gang before Blackwatch). With that background knowledge, he was certain this job could be done within a day.

The trouble, however, was coming to an agreement on the method to be used.

“We have to send a message to their allies - a warning! If they live, McCree, they only live to kill you later.”

“Justice needs t’ be served for the people ‘fore they can face what they deserve. An’ most of the folk are just hires, they don’t know nothin’ ‘bout the dealings.”

“They have made connections with a dangerous and networked weapons dealer; they are accomplices in this crime. You can’t let them walk free!”

“Listen t’ me, Han, I ain’t saying that!” McCree ran a hand through his terrible dye job and sank further into the hotel bed, ignoring Hanzo pacing at the end of it.

Their scouting had led them back to their shared space, which in turn had led to discussions on their plan to move forward and then… this.

“I  _ am  _ listening, and you are wrong. If we kill even just the leaders—”

“ _ They _ need to stay alive, they got all the intel I need!” McCree sat up again, rubbing his eyes. Hanzo resisted the itch to mirror him; he was supposed to be arguing with the cowboy, not flattering him.

McCree wasn’t seeing to logical reason. He wanted to keep the villains alive for arrest and interrogations before the police got involved. Collateral damage was to be kept to an absolute minimum, and if Hanzo hadn’t already been witness to his prowess, he’d think McCree a lunatic for believing in such idealistic dreams for a job. They had to be realistic about what they could get out of this, but McCree just wasn’t  _ listening _ . Why the hell wasn’t he listening to reason, to  **_him_ ** ?

Hanzo took a deep breath and stared straight at McCree, unrelenting.

“You asked for my input, and I gave it.” He said curtly, tone flat. “So you either consider it or waste the last half hour we’ve spent here arguing.”

McCree blinked and sat up more, staring back just as intently. The air between them thickened almost too much to swallow. Iwanko and Hachiko hung back, silent in a rare moment. Hanzo only watched as McCree got up onto his feet, sullen and shadowed despite the evening sunlight streaming in through the closed blinds. McCree prowled up to him, hell-bent.

“I have never, for a second, doubted your skill, Hanzo. I trust yer judgement,” Hanzo inhaled sharply, standing his ground. Smoke filled his lungs, surrounding him with the cowboy’s presence. Trust was a strong word, meaning far too much. “It’s why I asked for input. But I need your trust too, that I know what we’re dealin’ with here.”

Trust was too strong a word. Hanzo felt the walls close in, crushing him against the only support he had. It was the only word that mattered now.

McCree burned with a passion, shining in the gold of his eyes and through his skin. A bright sun or morals and justice biding until it could burst forth at full power. Any further and there would be smoke thicker than any cigarillo’s - enough to choke his enemies to the ground. That was his secret. Hanzo envied it, the ability to defeat another without a single blow.

“I do trust you, McCree.” He said, open and vulnerable. He stared back at the fire with his own, boiling blood with a force too strong to be anger. Wolves howled for the hunt like never before. “This is significant, we have to play smart in our approach.”

“Which is why we need t’ be on the same page. I…” McCree faltered, pulling back his flames to direct elsewhere. Hanzo could breathe a bit easier, but barely. “I don’t like arguin’ with ya, Han. ‘Specially ‘bout something like this. We had rules ‘n’ all that.”

“I agree.” The steady wave of his voice betrayed the tightness in his chest, but nonetheless he continued. “With that, at least. I don’t agree with your method, or whatever view you hold dear concerning these criminals, but if you’re going to get what you need, we need to set ground rules and stick with them.”

McCree smiled, still standing too close for him to breath but not uncomfortably so. Hanzo watched the last rays of day reflect off his edges, softened down for a moment just for his company. That spark and heat radiated off him, allowing Hanzo to bask instead of retreat. A performance for him and him alone that made his breathlessness worth it.

(He hoped.)

“Let’s get to it, shall we, darlin’?”

 

**0XX0**

 

As the clock struck nine, the twinkling lights across the African coast overtook the last beams of red and magenta sunlight spread across the darkening sky. The city lights pulled eyes like moths to a flame but for two, who were on a mission of their own tonight.

The moment darkness fell, Hanzo and McCree stripped their disguises for their regular gear (though there was nothing to be done about McCree’s lack of facial hair, he lamented) and loaded up their weapons to hit the town. Their first target of the hour was the largest storage base found earlier during scouting, the one most likely to be guarded with the gang’s forces stretched as thin as they were. McCree would sneak in while Hanzo took position to cover, check the inventory, avoid detection, and take as much evidence as he could in preparation of the all too likely event of the dealers destroying their wares before the job was over.

They stayed on the outside first, scoping around the few guards with Hanzo shooting sonic arrows into the small gaps the building offered. There were only a couple persons inside, hardly a threat for someone like McCree. The gunslinger, devoid of spurs and serape, slinked inside as Hanzo took up his spot by the windows to cover his partner.

The role was new to him but the work was not. Hanzo had spent years of his life waiting and watching for the perfect moment to strike. Except tonight would be less deadly than his usual cases, as per McCree’s conditions, but he wouldn’t hold back just the same; he could hit kneecaps as well as he could heads and hearts. He was growing used to the idea of these men and women bleeding out slowly from his arrows instead of dying instantly. He hoped it would stay that way, and that he wouldn’t need to call upon his wolves to consume his enemies tonight.

He still tasted blood between his teeth from their last kill.

With Storm Bow at the ready and an arrow notched in place, Hanzo pulled his shoulders back and flexed his trained muscles. He was ready for whatever came next, no matter what.

Minutes passed too slowly, pressing down on his nerves in the quiet background noise of a tourist town. Iwanko and Hachiko appeared at his sides, faded into the shadows and watching every corner that didn’t reach his own eyes.

He kept his breathing even and steady, thankful it was summer and not the dead of winter. His wolves sat frozen like it was, save for the occasional twitch of the ear. If he closed his eyes, he could share their sights and watch their shared senses; if there was one benefit to their curse, it would be this ability. It fought off the paranoia somewhat to know he had two constants guarding his surroundings at all times.

(Not that they could protect him from everything; his growing nightmares were always a lost battle.)

Movement at the front snapped Hanzo’s arrow to the perpetrator: a patrol guard, wandering aimlessly and without a care. One of the hired hands if their earlier theories were correct, or possibly a newer recruit. They were the type to get bored easily when nothing they were promised was delivered on their first week of grunt work. They were also the type to get themselves killed easily if they didn’t wisen up fast enough. Maybe luck would strike tonight.

The guard turned a corner, kicked a glass bottle, and disappeared from their views. Hanzo relaxed the bow string and exhaled. McCree still hadn’t reappeared, with not so much as a flash of his obnoxious belt buckle. 

Hanzo bit his lip and closed his eyes. Hachiko was watching the south end, lingering on the trucks and vans parked on the nearby curb. No one was there, but it never hurt to be prepared for an early escape attempt.

_ He’s out _ , Iwanko whispered, even though only Hanzo could hear him. The master switched perspective to the far side of the building, far from prying human eyes and streetlight. Tiny orange embers floated up from the shadows, outlining the edge of a familiar hat.

McCree tipped it up and the cigarillo sparks glinted in his eyes, then darkness swallowed him whole.

Hanzo moved before the flames flickered out.

Back together in one piece, he rejoined McCree in a cramped space between houses facing the ocean front. The cowboy grinned in the low light, leaning against a wall and holding up his smoke like it had all the answers they could ever need. Hanzo raised an eyebrow in lieu of asking why.

“Got what we need, plus a few extras.” McCree replaced the cigarillo to his lips and dug through his pockets. He pulled out a pair of bloated wallets that were suspiciously empty of cash. “Grabbed IDs on some fellas I can trace back to the ol’ US of A, some literal receipts of illegal tradin’ I hadn’t been tipped on yet, an’ I changed the plan a lil’.”

“ **_McCree—_ ** !”

A metal hand covered his mouth before Hanzo could (rightfully!) explode. They had spent too long strategizing and bickering for him to change it all without at least consulting him, what the actual hell?!

“It ain’t a 180 if you’re gonna start shoutin’.” McCree lowered his hand. Hanzo still scowled. “All I did was check their comms system, grab numbers an’ set up a timer so it looks like their bosses want them at the bar right before we get there.”

“Creating a wave of chaos and therefore increasing their difficulty to formally mobilise against us in one place when we take them out.” Hanzo sighed, anger draining out of him as he did so. He should’ve known better, he should have trusted… 

“Not my usual tactic, but I figure with you coverin’ me, it should go off without a hitch, darlin’. Any sec now they’ll be a-runnin’.”

He focused back on McCree and his widening grin, and rubbed his bare hand down his face. Iwanko and Hachiko paced over his mind, crackling up his tattoo. Hunger pangs went through them to him and he growled.

“Then let’s get ahead into position.” Hanzo ordered, glancing around their shared space. He jumped up onto the white walls, gripping onto what little surface there was and scaling upwards towards the stars, but not before catching McCree’s flushed face void of his hat’s shadow now pressed against his armoured chest. Hanzo climbed to the roof and peered down again.

“Always fancied a fella who could take charge.” McCree smirked up, flushed cheeks only added to his roguish charm. The smile turned crooked as Hanzo continued to stare wide-eyed and he cursed under his breath.

Focus was always the first priority of a mission. He couldn’t lose it now over one man; he was better than that. Failure was unacceptable.

He broke away, heading off towards the southernmost plaza. The soft click of heels confirmed McCree’s following, loud as thunder under the sounds of hysterics and rumbling engines from behind.

Crossing streets and buildings in the guise of night, they passed the turning for the plaza and squeezed towards Santísima Trinidad where more tall white walls spotted with balconies brought back memories of a world before Omnics, before the bridge. Of the good days where little but the wind and its riders mattered in this corner of the world. But even that old evil corrupted the smallest shreds of happiness left, leaving the survivors to rebuild nostalgia and faded memories. Thirty years later and only the memorials and vast cemeteries serve to bring the painful times back.

Maybe in so many decades, Hanzo could bring himself to survive the same way. Tonight was not the night to find out the answer.

The bar the gang leaders and most of their lackeys decided to spend the night in was small, tight-spaced between two sides of a street, spread out under roof and open sky the same. From his perch, Hanzo could see a few moving between buildings, drinks changing in the blink of an eye. They were also heavily armed, and very likely to be loaded already. A type of drunk that could get very dangerous very quickly, but they were relying on their intoxicated senses to muddy the water and turn the tides in their favour early.

Hanzo signalled down to McCree, hidden away around a corner and the cowboy nodded back, a flashbang already in hand. They took one last breath, and chaos erupted.

Bright light blinded Hanzo, he fired his first shot. Cries of panic filled the air.

A gunshot echoed.

The flash died as soon as it was born and McCree dived in, revolver still steaming. Hanzo followed his path into the first building, watching him punch dazed gangsters with his metal fist until the tip of his serape was inside. Guns cocking snapped Hanzo’s attention to the street and the quick-witted lackeys filling it up.

One, two, three, and more arrows flew through the air. They pierced hands, elbows and shoulders. Their weapons fell to the cobbled ground like their splatters of blood. Their squeals fell upon deaf ears.

The wolves were on the hunt.

The bodies kept flying out, both conscious and not. Arrows scattered, targets pinned down and wailing the dangers of The Sniper. They went unheard over the sounds of fists and guns inside, left defenseless without their firearms and quivering on the ground. The blood loss would take care of them soon enough.

Hanzo took the lull in victims to peer into the main bar through the windows, despite the awkward angle from the rooftop. From what little he could see, it was more of the same but far less bloody. There were barely moving bodies crumpled over shattered glasses and the edges of a fistfight in the middle of the bar space where tables were thrown about, blocking his view. 

As long as he could hear the scuffle, he knew McCree was still going strong. That was all that mattered tonight.

Still as a statue, he watched. Iwanko and Hachiko lay silent in the forefront of his mind, ready to snap and feast. 

Not tonight, not tonight, gods forbid… 

The bar door burst off its hinges and a bulky figure flew out after it, landing in a heap of broken wood and twisted steel. Hanzo pulled another arrow back as McCree marched out into the open. Thin streaks of blood flowed down his face from cuts already healing under the half moon. Gold flashed against the fire in his eyes, boiling under the surface of brown skin and leaving Hanzo breathless once again.

McCree lifted the woman up by her jacket, leaning in close as so Hanzo couldn’t hear a word passed between them. From the way she tried to bite back and McCree pressed in closer with sharpened fangs, Hanzo knew the gunslinger was the victor. 

He lowered his bow and arrow, crouching in the shadow of the flat roof, and gazing out over the battlefield. 

He never saw the omnic strike McCree.

The arrow flew on the wind faster than his snarl, but the omnic moved swiftly over the fallen McCree and down the street. Hanzo held back a bark (was McCree alright? He wasn’t moving) and drew another arrow just as a slim boy slipped through, package in hand. 

The arrow grazed his head, splitting his ear with a stream of blood. He didn’t stop. Hanzo reached back to his quiver—

“Kuso!”

He had no more arrows left.

A loud Spanish curse dragged Hanzo back to McCree, on his feet and faced half-formed. Without a moment to call for him, the gunslinger was chasing after the runaways. Hanzo cursed again and dutifully followed across the rooftops.

At the end of the path, he jumped out onto the empty road. An open top car sped away and McCree stood jittering between parked hover-cycles. Hanzo rushed over, growling curses and mutterings coming into focus as he neared. He hooked his bow over his shoulder and tapped McCree on the shoulder, jolting him out of his musings.

“Where are they going?” Hanzo asked without missing a beat. McCree’s barely-there muzzle pulled back at a speed the archer held back his surprise at and shook his head, flesh hand fidgeting to run through his hair.

“Towards the bridge. They got somethin’ that’ll help ‘em across the border, I reckon.” McCree pulled back and leant over a hover-cycle.

“Then we don’t have much time to catch up to them.” Hanzo closed his eyes, centering in his practised way. “I can get us to the bridge—”

“No need.” A roaring engine opened Hanzo’s eyes to McCree saddled on the rumbling hover-cycle, wires poking out haphazardly and patting the seat behind him. “No time t’ lose, darlin’.”

Grand theft auto wasn’t the worst thing either of them had ever done (at the very least Hanzo could guess) and the night had already turned in ways neither of them had expected, so he jumped onto the seat with nothing to lose.

McCree sped forward without warning. Hanzo dug his nails into his shoulder, holding onto his pelt with his other hand. Buildings raced past them in a blur, corners forgotten in favour of flying over the sharp edges of road and speeding ahead at an alarming rate. Hanzo held on and looked out, spying the getaway car veering onto the bridge.

McCree saw them too and growled low enough for Hanzo to feel it in his bones. The gunslinger scowled, determination slipping away into frustration. The flames rose up and he pushed forward more with white knuckles and a precision that came only with trained skills.

The engine sputtered as they came to the opening of the bridge, toll bar already broken and thrown aside. Hanzo sat up as they sped by, wincing at the guttural noises the bike spat out. A white stream of smoke spilled out from the engine, and McCree slammed on the breaks.

They drifted out onto the bridge and Hanzo held on for dear life even as they came to an uneasy halt. He breathed in quickly, gaze darting all over. It settled on McCree, shoulders hunched and tense, fire brimming on the fringes of his being. Hanzo’s mind burst with static, drowning out his spirits’ calls to him and turning their words into garbled nothing.

“God fucking dammit…”

McCree rose his head and Peacekeeper with it, aiming ahead on the straight road. Fire burst forth in warm light and Hanzo pulled back lest he be burnt by the sun enveloping him. A low husk of a voice was their only warning:

“It’s high noon.”

Six shots. One blast.

The car crashed into the bridge railing without a shout, yelp or anything.

Hanzo was moving before he’d even registered the ground beneath his feet. The car was a twisted mess of metal and glass in the front, hood and engine crushed into scrap. Yet it was almost bloodless, the only evidence of violence being the steady leak of blood and oil from the gunshot wounds in their heads. They were clean, from the back to the front of the skulls, as if the shots had been fired close range with no evidence to the full load Hanzo had heard go off.

Six bullet casings littered the car floor. Two entry and exit wounds were all that were left, no dents or cracks left anywhere else. The boy’s face was serene, almost too peaceful to have been touched by death. Hanzo swallowed as a long forgotten feeling broiled deep in his gut, rising up to his throat.

Fear.

_ Be wary not of the wolf, for Man is the beast that kills without meaning. _

Shot from the back, without a chance to face them off. A dishonourable death, by every meaning of the word, all for an unstained package that seemed too small to be worth it. Hanzo reached in and took it, turning it over in his hands. He summoned his wolves, but didn’t meet their eyes.

“Take it to McCree, I’ll follow.” His voice was flat, void of anything he felt. He’d deal with those emotions once his hands were clean once again. He handed it to Iwanko’s mouth and turned away, feeling them walk off. He busied himself with pulling the bodies out of the wreck of the car and hauling them over his shoulders. 

He didn’t get very far back up the bridge before Hachiko’s disembodied voice clawed at him.

_ McCree isn’t well _ , she whined. Hanzo closed his eyes and his vision cleared. McCree was off the bike, doubled over himself and retching heavily. She wasn’t close enough, but Hanzo knew the sight of blood to see it mixed in with the vomit. McCree was shaking, mumbling under his breath with no strength.

A different fear kicked Hanzo to open his eyes and move faster.

McCree leant against the bike, wiping at his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and a tremor in his step. Iwanko and Hachiko hovered around him, whining and pressing their ears flat against their heads. Their worried thoughts whirled around but he shoved them aside; they didn’t matter now.

“Shit, shit, shit,  _ shit… _ ” McCree stuttered quietly, head low as he tried to stand straight. He rubbed his hand against his right eye. The specks of blood on the glove were unmistakable even in the dim moonlight.

He took a shuddering breath and stepped forward, close enough to feel but not enough to touch. “McCree, it’s done. You did good work—”

“ **_Don’t_ ** .”

Hanzo froze but didn’t move. McCree pulled himself together, cold and spent, to face the archer. His right eye, red and bloodshot mixed with tears, stared right through him. Like an arrow to his battered soul, pinning him in place. He wasn’t familiar with the feeling.

He wasn’t used to McCree without life either, and yet it stood in front of him, undeniable.

“That, that was a mistake,” he said, voice weak and strained with emotion. “I got desperate and  _ stupid _ , I should’ve… I shoulda shot the tires or spooked the kid, not…! Goddammit.”

Hanzo watched as the broken man McCree had hidden in his eyes unfurled, a transformation far more haunting than any ruthless animal under the moon. Something in him yearned to cover this mirror image, hide them away from the world until his gunslinger came back. But he’d never left. This was it.

Any rational person would be scared, running from the darkness. Hanzo knew this new fear and he faced it with his own shadows. This was why they came together and stayed, no matter what excuses they threw onto it. He had more honour than to flee the first man he dared called friend.

Balancing the omnic over his shoulder, Hanzo placed his hand on McCree’s shoulder and squeezed. He let go just as fast and walked by, taking Iwanko and Hachiko with him.

“The job isn’t over yet. There’s time for everything else.”

He didn’t need to look behind to know McCree would follow.

 

**0XX0**

 

No more words were spared between them that night, brief conversations only shared with a glance and a nod. They were still on the job, it would come later when they were alone.

But it never did.

Even after the heavy smoking and rough interrogation in front of the regrettable corpses, McCree’s walls didn’t fall back down. Even after evading the police and hiding out in their hotel room for two days, he was as guarded as ever. Hanzo didn’t press; they weren’t close friends, but he couldn’t help the tiny pang of disappointment that ran through him. 

Finishing the job, finding the answers that McCree wanted, and tearing up two groups in one night would have been enough for celebration. Instead, it was hollow.

They left Tarifa together on a bus headed to Algeciras and McCree kept up his silence, staring out to the east through the murky windows. Hanzo could only imagine what phantoms plagued him and compare them to his own. But that wasn’t fair to the cowboy, to hold onto their ties when their journey was at its end. He could no long prolong the dreaded inevitable. It was time to sever their bond.

The silence stretched on, driving the gap between them wider than ever and Hanzo allowed it. It wasn’t as if McCree was willing to change the circumstances either.

Until they reached Ljubljana a week later and suddenly there was too much separating them for a fitting farewell. 

They were at a service station at midnight, inconspicuous as one could be, yet it was as if the world was centered on this moment. Eyes everywhere and on them under this empty awning. A private goodbye on the world’s stage. It didn’t feel right, but for them, it never would.

McCree buried his hands into his coat pockets and sniffed, jostling the glasses sat on his nose that he insisted that his ‘Joel’ persona cannot be without. Hanzo watched him out of the corner of his eye, adjusting the duffle bag hanging on his shoulder (it wasn’t the only thing weighing him down).

“Han?” Hanzo tilted his head to look up at McCree, a gunslinger slowly returning to form with his beard growing back in all directions. It suited him, but not as well as his signature scruff.

“McCree?” He huffed a small smile at that and turned to face him properly, swinging on his heels.

“I jus’…wanted to thank ya, for sticking with me.” McCree ducked his head and bit his lip where his cigarillo would normally rest. “Here I wanted to show ya real justice ‘n’ hero work, an’ I ruined it.”

Hanzo blinked slowly; he could  _ dissect  _ that later. He couldn’t let it ruin their last moment. “I don’t abandon my fellow kind either. We still came out on top nonetheless.”

“No, we…” McCree sighed, his words dying on his tongue. He shook his head, expression softening. “At that low point, you stayed. Not many folks have in my life, so I appreciate it more than ya know.”

Hanzo licked his lips, flickering his eyes away. He focused on the beard, unsure of how to respond. How could you?

“I’m…glad.” _ You idiot _ . “Make sure you keep up the exercises when you can, and don’t intrude on another wolf’s territory during a full moon again. I don’t think the next werewolf you meet will let you share their bed.”

McCree’s laugh was close enough to happy that it didn’t worry him anymore and he gazed back up at him, feeling the heat rush to his face when that tender look was pointed at him. He didn’t warrant such a warm look, but McCree didn’t relent.

“You keep sayin’ things that way an’ I might start thinkin’ you’re being sincere.” 

Hanzo pursed his lips, pushing back his words.  _ And what if I was? _ He couldn’t do this to them, not now. So instead, he said nothing and turned back to stare out into the night. McCree shuffled beside him, scuffing his boots against the tarmac.

“Y’know, this doesn’ have to be our last job together.” McCree said quietly, looking up at the invisible stars. Hanzo blinked at him.

“Just sayin’. You got a unique skill set, I got a unique skill set. We both travel all over, we’re bound to be in the same country at some point, in need of back-up…”

“Is this your way of asking for my real number?” Hanzo asked, raising an eyebrow. McCree looked back down, smiling.

“I got a used napkin an’ everything.”

It was more excuses, more connections that could get either of them killed for all the wrong reasons. He’d survived this far on his own, he could go the rest of his life just the same.

But after McCree, without the ridiculous man around him somehow, he doubted he would be able to live. That was one fact he knew for certain and the pain of it was too much for him to imagine.

Hanzo pulled out his phone and held out a hand. The battered old communicator was placed in his palm and he fought back a smile as he punched in the numbers all linked to him. McCree took it back with an unabashed grin, life creeping back into him. 

“Better make sure it works.” He chuckled, thumbs skimming over the screen. Hanzo’s phone quickly buzzed. Night buses came into the distance, pulling up to the well worn stops nearby.

 

_ [[SMS: Unknown; 00:49]] _

__ _ I’m gonna miss you something fierce, darlin _

 

Hanzo stared at the message, tightness welling up and his feet resisting to move even as his ride up north pulled into its stop and opened the doors. He typed back with shaking fingers.

 

_ [[SMS: Phone #1; 00:53]] _

__ _ I think I’m going to miss you too. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^ and this is the part that made my beta scream at me, lol
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments, kudos and such so far! Keep them coming, I love to hear what you guys think! <33
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	9. Run From Man's Delusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an important announcement in the end notes of this chapter, please be sure to read it!
> 
> This 7069 word chapter (heh heh) is dedicated to AughtPunk, who called me a monster for the last chapter and whom I will continue to torment. I'm a big fan!
> 
> And major thanks to nedstark for once again dealing with my complaining for the last couple months and to Autocon21 for being the most wonderful beta, even when work shifts are tough and unrelenting.
> 
> Can anyone find the Monster Factory reference I hid in here, hmmmm?

The road to Cairo was one Jesse wished were more traveled and well known to him, but that was sadly not the case. Not because of his own hesitations or worries (though they certainly played a part where his people were concerned), but rather because the schedules of two full grown adults rarely coordinated to their wishes.

Ever since Fareeha turned 18 and had gotten her Overwatch application rejected (thank you, Ana), they’d seen each other barely more than a dozen times. Time in the military left Fareeha few vacation days, and even when she took them she refused to visit his base if her mother was stationed there, opting to spend the holiday with her father instead (the most time she spent with Jesse back then was the week after he first shifted). Promises were made and they tried to call when they could in those years.

And after he left Blackwatch… well.

Circumstances really weren’t on their side after that. He could count on one hand how often he’d even seen her once he resurfaced from the underground with a bounty on his head.

But even so, jesse trusted her more than anything. She was _pack,_ his instincts reasoned and he elected to agree with them. No matter how much time and distance was between them, nothing could sever their bond as family. And family always came through for each other.

Which was great for him since this was a very last minute visit to distract him from the newest ghost trailing his shadow. He wished he could say this turn of mood was due to leaving Hanzo’s company; it was simple and stupid, and so innocent, but it wasn’t the truth.

Not that letting Hanzo go hadn’t been hard, but the blow was softened by their exchange, making them more connected than ever. He was thankful for the change of heart that rewarded his leap of faith, and he was sure the other wolf felt the same way.

That kid’s dead eyes stared at him in the dark and Jesse felt an overwhelming need to drown it out with a bottle of bourbon, just like all the others. He held back on the trek over borders, keeping himself to water and stale coffee wherever he could grab it; Joel Morricone had to keep up his homely blond appearance lest someone get smart about him.

The road to Cairo was a quiet one, and after so long with a traveling companion in Hanzo, Jesse found himself missing the mindless chatter and witty banter they surrounded themselves in to fill the silence in the middle of the night. He’d missed it before they even parted ways (had he even heard Hanzo when they left Tarifa? How much had he ignored up to the buses?).

Focusing on his friend (and how wonderful was that foreign word) dulled the pain behind his right eye to a hum, pulling his dangerous thoughts away to comfort. Hanzo was staying at the cabin for a while, leaving them free to message each other freely without worry of compromise. The sleepless nights on the hypertrains were more bearable knowing that he wasn’t alone, not really. Knowing there was someone else - someone just like him - on the other end of the attempts at ‘pun revenge’ at 3:26AM in the middle of Lebanon warmed him like a summer hug.

It was a nice feeling. He hoped he’d never have to let go of it.

(He doubted he could after the brilliance that was ‘if you wear cowboy clothes, are you ranch dressing?’

Holding in his laughter had given him a furious spasm of pain in his gut, a sore chest and a bright spot in this time.)

Fareeha’s state appointed home was in what locals would probably call the nice part of the city, which meant they needed to meet in a seedier block to avoid any knowing eyes. He’d booked an overnight room in a motel, she’d booked in, and all that was left was to hide away in the room with too many drinks until the sun rose. Probably not the best situation to be reuniting with your little sister in, but it was the only one that didn’t end with him exploding into a mess he couldn’t return from.

Jesse entered the city in the dusk hour, prowling the streets with a dead glare and towering figure no one dared near. He stared at nothing but the road ahead, shrugging off every offended look until he got to the motel.

He banged on the door to the room and Fareeha opened it wide, apprehending him with a single glance. In the two and a half years since he’d seen her last (in an online photo attached to an article about the Amari legacy; her smile had been fake), she’d hardly changed. For all the talk of how she looked like Ana, Jesse couldn’t help but see all their differences in this moment.

“You look like shit.”

He tried to quirk a smile. In the flesh, she was the same as ever. Ana would’ve slapped the gunslinger out of him by now.

“I feel it.” His voice was hoarse and gritty from days of minimal use. His throat scratched in all the wrong places and he coughed to hide the wince. Fareeha raised an eyebrow, piercing through all his bullshit as she always did in that way only sisters could. Little ones especially.

“C’mon, I brought out your favourite for this momentous occasion.”  She opened the door wide and he trudged inside, not missing the strain in her jaw to keep her smile soft.

He made a bee-line to the bed and barely had time to drop his belongings as his knee hit the mattress and he toppled over. The hotel standard bed was uncomfortable and itchy, and it felt like heaven after days of non-stop travel sitting upright. His legs dangled off the end and he buried his head into the sheets. They smelt overwhelmingly of cheap detergent, old cigarette smoke and much dirtier things like everything else in the building. He yearned for a smoke of his own, but he’d burnt through his one remaining pack all the way back in Croatia and the urge to buy a low-grade packet from a crummy street vendor had only been held back by a thread.

The bed dipped by his feet and the sharp smell of bourbon wafted through to lift his head up to stare at the headboard. He felt his boots slip off and a tug on his jacket.

(Hanzo’s wary voice warned him of the dangers of the poison; he knew all too well now that he couldn’t go back to his infamous drinking habits, but he needed it. The fog and numbness was all that could take him away from the eyes and guilt, just for one night.

That was all he wanted.)

“Best get comfy, bro. I got a feeling this is gonna be a long one.” Fareeha’s voice was quiet, not the tired kind but the gentle kind. She knew he’d be able to hear her heartbeat from any distance; there was no need for raised voices tonight.

He let out a shuddering sigh and sat up properly on the bed, shrugging off layers until they were a matching pair of ratty shirts and old sweatpants. They laid back against a carefully constructed pile of pillows and cushions, each a glass in hand with their preferred liquor. Bottles of coconut water, a box of potassium tablets and a bowl of stolen bar peanuts between them.

Jesse stared at his drink, swirling it around. A glint of amber stared back at him.

_“He’s a monster, Reyes!”_

“This is stupid.”

He’d been killing all sorts of people his whole life, trained to perfect the art of it by the two people he’d considered the closest thing he ever had to parents. He’d taken out the worst of the worst and gone face to face with the worst horrors humankind could conjure. He’d gotten the job done, gotten what he wanted from the gang. He’d done so, so much worse than Deadeye a kid.

Yet those blank eyes tripped him up.

“No it isn’t.” Fareeha huffed and sipped from her drink, watching him. He did the same, relishing the bite of it and how it slid down his throat. He’d missed this.

“It _feels_ stupid, ‘Reeha. I shouldn’t care ‘bout a dumb kid I shot.” He murmured against his glass, but she heard anyway.

“Tell me what happened, Jess.” She lifted her legs to cross over his, nudging him with a chipped toenail. “I’m sure I can Freud you out of this.”

It wasn’t the best joke for the time but his lips quirked up again. That’s why he came to her in times like these; she always knew how to drag him kicking and screaming into livelihood again, for a little while longer at least.

After a few false starts, trying to find the words that could hit home, Jesse told her the story. He gave as much detail as he could without compromising Hanzo’s identity, as both a Shimada and fellow wolf, only referring to him as a partner for the mission. It piqued Fareeha’s interest, but she kept quiet with her focus on him and the drinks. His glass was empty by the time he got to the bridge; it didn’t matter, he was fixated on keeping his voice steady.

His voice died on him before he could say anything about the corpses, how they stared at him with nothing but blood.

He closed his eyes and Jefe was staring him down in the interrogation room. A stupid kid with the opportunity of a lifetime.

He’d taken that away from someone, for good. All because he’d gotten desperate.

Fareeha’s hand came to rest on his back, a comforting weight. Her fingernails pricked at his raised skin, drumming a familiar tune he hummed in his head.

_Country roads, take me home to the place where I belong. West Virginia, mountain momma. Oh take me home, country roads…_

A century old song kept between the two of them, from back in the day when their friendship was brand new and a young Fareeha demanding he prove his cowboy straps. A little Denver went a long way to making her double over in giggles at his antics, which in turn warmed the Overwatch commanders to him and his chances in their ranks. She’d done so much for him without even meaning to, and he owed her just as much. What could he do to repay her?

She took the glass out of his hands, careful of the cracks (had he been gripping it that tightly?) and disconnected his prosthetic with a practised finesse. It went aside and he sat up, running his hand through his tangled hair.

“You wanna know something?” Fareeha asked as she adjusted her position and refilled his glass. He watched from the corner of his eye, not making eye contact and flexing his empty hand as an excuse to do _something_. He nodded.

“I’ve always thought of you as some sort of superhero, going out and saving the world every day with that big gun of yours,” Jesse’s brow twitched and she flicked his shoulder hard, “Don’t even think about giving me the spiel, Jess. Whether or not you did good things back then doesn’t change the facts.”

Jesse turned his head to her but her eyes were downcast, staring further away than the walls of the room would allow her. Her face was no longer strained to be soft, but the upturn of her lips was full of fondness one may have looking through an old photo album. Her bangs shadowed her eyes but he could guess that she was holding back a rough wave. She gave him his bourbon and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“You’re my hero, Jesse McCree, and I’m so proud of you.”

Jesse swallowed and found a solid lump forming in his throat, killing any words before they could be voiced. He blinked quickly, cursing the sting in his eyes that grew as Fareeha pulled him into a tight one-armed hug. She smiled into his shirt and he took a long breath, burrowing his face into her hair. If he tried to hug her back, he knew damn well he’d never let go.

“Not because you did everything you could, but because after all these years in this work, something like shooting a kid still hits you _this_ hard.”

He shut his eyes tight, pursing his lips and cradling his drink to his chest in lieu of anything else.

“That’s the kind of person I want to be.”

He nudged her gently with his stump arm, making her lift up her head to look at him properly.

“I ain’t exactly the type of person anyone should aspire t’ be, ‘Reeha.” He mumbled, watching the washed out light reflect off his drink.

“Only the good parts,” she replied and patted his arm, “which I know are there, so don’t try to argue with me, Jesse.”

“I’d never dream.” And that was the truth. Anyone dumb enough to argue against an Amari with her mind set on something had never deserved to be in the same room as her. He’d learnt that the hard way a long time ago.

They laughed and pulled away, feeling somewhat lighter but certainly not enough to walk away satisfied. They clinked their drinks together and threw them back, ready to take their fills and make the most of this rare opportunity.

 

**0XX0**

 

The conversation between emptying glasses moved from the ghosts to more recent events, to Fareeha going on a tipsy rant about her newest job deployment and her temporary ‘co-workers’. Jesse, in the middle of liver poisoning and drunk off his ass, chuckled at her flailing arms and over-the-top executions of discussions she’d been a part of. His senses were dulled all around and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was eight years ago back when the best bunker gossip was what ridiculous funding proposals O'Deorain had put forward to the higher ups.

“…the worst part is that she’s actually really cool when her work isn’t an issue, and oh my Gooood. Jesse. Jesse, she’s so pretty. I actually cried.”

_Bttzzzz!_

“Who’s this ya talkin’ ‘bout?” He opened his eyes, the light stirring up a pain in his stomach. Fareeha slapped her hand over his face.

_Bttzzzz!_

“The architect I’m partnered with, Vaswani. I literally told you her name three times before I started.”

Jesse grunted and lifted his glass to his lips. It was empty again.

“Shit.”

“Have you ever just met someone so… so _annoyingly_ pretty?”

_Bttzzzz!_

“Sure have, he’s textin’ me now.”

Fareeha shifted away and the bed lifted without her weight. Jesse put his glass aside and grabbed a water bottle for a gulp, paying her no heed. The ache in his guts spread out and he could barely hear his own breathing; just as he liked it.

“Who the hell is ‘Han-Bear-Sensei’?”

Wait, fuck.

Jesse spat out his coconut water and choked on a cough. He pounded on his chest as he kept coughing, lungs burning up fast. Air quickly ran out and he inhaled deeply, glaring over at Fareeha. She was crouched over his travel bag, scrolling as nonchalantly through his phone as one could with red squinted eyes. He rolled over, pointing a finger at her.

“Leave a man his dignity ‘n’ don’ be snoopin’ through his phone, Ree Ree.”

“Is this a friend? Since when do _you_ have friends?” She asked, completely ignoring his plea. She kept scrolling, only looking up to throw a sly smirk at him.

“That shit’s private, ya gremlin.”

“Oh is it now?”

“Fareeha—!”

She threw her head back and laughed, almost falling over from the shift in balance. Jesse pouted and cursed whatever gods thought it fit to give him such a terror for a sister, among many other things. She leapt up to stand, only slightly tipping over, and threw his phone right at his face.

“I don’t know your passcode, tonto. You should change your settings so I can’t see your contact names on lock screen, by the way.” She kept giggling at his face and flopped back onto her side of the pillow pile, sending nuts and tablets into the air.

Four Drink Fareeha wasn’t as funny as she thought she was.

(That was Six Drink Fareeha.)

Jesse passed his drink to her and set his mouth in a thin line as she drowned it all in one fell swoop; that was no way to treat a bourbon. He shook his head and opened his phone, slowly reading Hanzo’s newest message.

 

_[[SMS: p9wht han-bear-sensei loool; 23:48]]_

_Hachiko is worried you didn’t arrive safely. Alleviate her worries please_

_I also found one of your plaid shirts under the bed._

_[[23:50]]_

_I’ll assume you don’t want it back and that I can use it as kindling ???_

 

Jesse huffed a laugh and dimmed the screen brightness before carefully typing out a response that wouldn’t reveal he went against his friend’s enforced advice and was on his way to his third bottle of sudden regret with only one arm.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 00:11]]_

_tell Hachi I’m fine n thrivin_

_Ree an me are just catching up and she’s bullying me bout having no friends :(_

 

_[[SMS: p9wht han-bear-sensei loool; 00:12]]_

_She’s not wrong_

_but I’m glad to know you’re safe and sound, even if you’ve abandoned your autocorrect along the way_

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 00:17]]_

_fuk u_

 

“That’s no way to talk to your annoyingly pretty friend.”

He flinched and jumped away, almost knocking into Fareeha’s chin over his shoulder. He scratched his ear and his brow twitched at how _little_ he could consider. Had he really become that reliant on his wolven senses that a few extra drinks could numb him this far? To the point where a tipsy Fareeha of all people could sneak up on him?

(God, he was a mess.)

He glanced over to Fareeha. She laid on her side, chin held in palm, eyebrow raised and her signature smirk on display. He narrowed his eyes at her and she laughed, surprisingly soft to add to the whiplash curling his neck.

“It’s nothing, just…” She let out a low sigh and shut her eyes, sober. “You remind me of Uncle Gabi sometimes.”

Jesse watched her, brushing his fake blond bangs away from his face. Her smile slipped and she took a cautious breath. No, not soft. _Broken_.

He sat up properly, put his phone down, and wrapped an arm around Fareeha, pulling her into the crook of his neck and rubbing down her back. She returned the embrace, curling up close and sniffling against his shirt just like she did the night the Ana he knew died. Quiet moments in the witching hour with just the two of them, no words needing to be said; they knew.

“I needed this too,” Fareeha muttered against him, barely loud enough for his dulled senses to pick it up. He pulled her closer as memories of Reinhardt weeping over an empty grave came back at full force. “I miss them, Jesse.”

He closed his eyes and nodded, opening up an old truth he’d left behind in Blackwatch’s ashes the day he walked out from that life. “Me too, ‘Reeha.”

 

**0XX0**

 

“‘Member that Halloween party where we dressed as those dumb, rich twins?”

“Oh my God, we broke Uncle Gabi when you started singing about being homeless!”

“Ah, how we foretell the future. Incredible.”

“And we called Jack ‘Traeger’ for a week after that.”

“Why did we ever stop?”

“‘Cause Uncle Gabi finally rebooted and told us to get back to work before he made you clean the showers.”

“What a mean Ben.”

 

**0XX0**

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask: how’s the furry business been going?”

“…For the love of all things holy, never say that again.”

“Lying coward. You know what I mean.”

“It’s been fine, good even. Last couple months have been… like nothin’ else.”

“Sounds super gay.”

“You got no idea, sis.”

 

**0XX0**

 

“Mum’s been chasing after Talon agents again. Her theories are piling up all over the place.”

“She’s doing what’s right, that’s the important part.”

“I-I haven’t heard from her in months.”

“She’s a tough ol’ cookie, Ree Ree. If Widowmaker can’t take ‘er out, there’s not much else that can.”

“But… what if…?”

“Don’tcha be thinkin’ that way now, lil’ lady. She’ll come home.”

 

**0XX0**

 

“Have ya talked to Rein or Torb lately?”

“About a month ago. Why?”

“How are they?”

“Reinhardt’s traveling around, doing the good work while Torb is planning to spend the summer with his mountains of grandchildren. Real retirement is not a concept to either of them, unfortunately.”

“Anyone else?”

“I got a message from Angela four months ago asking to meet up when she passed through the city, but I never heard back. Last I heard of Genji, he was still roaming the world as one does.”

“Well, no bad news is good. Right?”

“Right. Gotta be.”

 

**0XX0**

 

“So, this Vishkar lady ya got a boner over—”

Fareeha grabbed a pillow and slapped it over his head, nearly knocking the peanuts out of his hand. He threw it off and stuck his tongue out at her.

“You gotta ask her out.”

“Uh, no? Never?” Fareeha settled down, sitting cross-legged and nursing the last bottle of water to her cheek. She gave him an incredulous look, somewhat dampened by her flushed cheeks and slight slur to her words.

“Worst she can do is say no.” Jesse popped a nut into his mouth, wagging his eyebrows.

“Worst she can do is get me _fired_ , numb nuts!” She hissed through her teeth, obviously wanting to throw another pillow at him. Whatever held her back was obviously to do with the way her head swayed side to side uneasily.

“Cowaaaaard.” He sung under his breath and laughed at Fareeha’s flustered pout.

She quickly shifted to a sharp grin and his laugh died just as fast.

“So, you’ve asked out the ‘annoyingly pretty Han-Bear friend’ then?” She wagged her eyebrows back at him, leaning forward to show off all her teeth in that wicked smile. Jesse leaned back, munching on more nuts in an effort to fight off the rush of blood to his face and neck. He doubted it worked.

“That’s completely different!”

“Oh please,” she giggled and crossed her arms, “I know you, bro. That dumb whatever for a contact name? You actually like him.”

“It’s an inside joke Han said I’d never go through with ‘cause it’s too terrible to see the light of day.”

“‘Han’ is right, that’s a terrible contact name. Not even a heart emoji?”

“No, ‘cause I’m 36 not 14.”

Fareeha giggled again, pressing a hand to her heart and shaking her head. Jesse glared at her, chewing and grinding his next mouthful to a fine mushy dust. She looked him in the eye again, still smiling.

“You haven’t denied your big gay crush, that’s a good sign.”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged a shoulder, swallowing. “I’m an adult, he’s an adult. Mutual attraction ain’t nothin’ to get worked up over.”

Silence. Jesse went back to watching her, her face morphing through a whole journey of emotions before settling on simple bafflement.

“You finally find a guy who thinks you’re worth boinking—”

“Oh God, Ree.”

“—and you’re not doing anything about it?”

“We talked about it an’ we both agreed there’s too many risks.” He shrugged again, finishing off the last of his nuts.

(They hadn’t, but it was something that went without saying. That was the wonderful thing about being around Hanzo; so little could be said, yet there was hardly ever a misunderstanding.

He missed him.)

Fareeha’s expression didn’t change, jaw slack in disbelief. She blinked a few times and then straightened her back, rubbing at her temples.

“I can’t… Jess, I’ve told you: being a werewolf does not mean you can’t have a romantic relationship with someone.”

Oh right. She didn’t know - no one did. Of course she thought _that_ was the underlying problem, as any person with an ounce of common sense would in this situation.

“That’s actually not an issue, he…”

Should he tell her? It’d be helpful to get an outside opinion, a confidante in his oldest friend to finally say everything that had been crowding in on his mind for the last two months. When it’d been just him and Hanzo, it’d been fine; he felt he could live off Hanzo’s laughter for the rest of his days, but without his presence Jesse felt like he was sinking into his thoughts. Fareeha knew him better than he knew himself, in more ways than one. If anyone could be his sympathetic shoulder, it’d be her.

But she was Genji’s friend as well, and she felt the same way he did back then about their friend’s killer. He remembered well the way she described what she’d do if she ever came across the infamous Shimada brother. He shuddered to recall those words.

And not just that, he’d be betraying Hanzo’s trust if he just blurted out all his secrets to a woman who didn’t know him. The _real_ him. Their deal, their friendship, their understanding - it was theirs and theirs alone.

But he had to talk to somebody about his feelings, the conflict, the relief. And it might as well be the sister he trusted most in the world.

“Gimme a sec.” He pulled his phone out again and opened it, facing the screen away from Fareeha to avoid her eavesdropping. He pulled up Hanzo’s message history and typed away before he could argue himself out of it. A glance to the contact name screwed something in his throat tight and he wiped it away for a new face.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 03:18]]_

_hey han you awake??_

_I gotta ask you something important_

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 03:19]]_

_Regrettably, yes_

_Why are you? go to sleep, cowboy_

 

Jesse chuckled, quickly glancing over his phone to Fareeha. She sat back, watching with those Horus eyes.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 03:21]]_

_in a sec, mother_

_Me and Ree are chattin n u came up and_

 

He hesitated, gulping down the wave of nerves.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 03:21]]_

_can I tell her about you? The whole thing or at least most of it_

_I trust her, more than anybody I ever have. she knows me better than god could_

_[[03:23]]_

_i need to talk to someone about us even just a lil bit darlin_

_I wont if ya don’t want me to i don’t wanna hurt ya none_

_Please?_

 

The messages went and Jesse let out a breath, a weight lifted off his stomach. He tapped his phone as the message was read, and nothing.

Moments passed and a new weight of anxiety began to creep in.

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 00:31]]_

_yes_

 

There it was, the final word. Jesse felt no others come to his mind as he stared, gaping.

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 00:32]]_

_t hank you jesse_

_Im glad you have someo ne to talk to_

 

He stared at the new words, untangling them in his alcohol-ridden mind. Nothing came up and time was wasting at his feet. It was now or never; he’d never get another chance like this again.

Jesse put the phone aside once more and met Fareeha’s confused gaze head on.

“Hanzo’s a werewolf too.”

She reeled back, eyes widening and mouth snapping shut. She held her hand to her face, water forgotten. Her eyes darted from corner to corner, never landing on him or anything but sparkling with recognition all the same. Her lips twisted all over, slowly turning into something that could be a smile to somebody.

“Like you? That… that’s brilliant!”

“Not exactly like me, more magic cursed or some’ing but, yeah.” Jesse took a deep breath, staring down at his twitching hands. He could do this.

“And?” She raised an eyebrow, ducking her head to make eye contact. “What else is there?”

This was it.

“Hanzo Shimada is a werewolf.”

A beat.

Two.

Jesse clamped his mouth shut, watching as she froze up, words turning over in her head along with the rest of her gears. She pursed her lips, shoulders slacked as her eyes blanked in a thousand yard stare. It didn’t look right on her, even though he knew better. She’d seen her own share of monsters and horrors, and here he was giving her another one to process. This was a mistake, he should’ve worded himself better, he…

“It’s not true.”

She was looking at him now, eyes brimming with fresh tears. Angry. Confused. Upset. All these things and more, directed right at him. He wished he could say that the alcohol was mixing up her feelings, removing all her filters (that was more likely to be him at this point of the night), but he knew better. He knew her much better than that, just as she did him. This is what she’d always felt and now it was in the open for him to take.

“Tell me.” Her voice strained and she clutched her shirt, glaring down at him from the higher ground.

“You deserve nothin’ less than the truth, ‘Reeha.” He kept his voice level and refused to hunch over or cower. He had to stand by his choices, especially the ones he really believed in. He couldn’t turn on Hanzo like that.

Fareeha shot up onto her feet, walking away to the windows on the far side of the room with her head in her hands. Jesse turned to face her and breathed.

“I know how you’re feelin’, I was the same when I found out.” He quipped a smirk and barked a short laugh. “I ran ‘cross two countries to get away from ‘im an’ find a way to tell Genji where he was.”

She lifted her head up but didn’t move away from the dirty window blinds.

“I didn’t get that far, obviously. We made an agreement that he’d help me with my control so I wouldn’ hurt anybody on full moon, and he did. I don’t lose myself anymore ‘n’ it barely hurts none to shift over.

“I got to know him, Ree, a lil’ bit an’ he ain’t the guy Genji told us about. He doesn’t always get it right, but he’s trying and that deserves the same chance I got. He’s funny, smart as a whip, and… an’ he’s the only one who gets it.”

“Why haven’t you told Genji?” She asked, looking over her shoulder and wiping her eyes dry with the edge of her shirt. “He’s spent all this time looking…”

“Yeah, an’ I just happened t’ stumble onto him.” Jesse shook his head. Funny how his life worked out. “Genji wants him dead and he’s stopped at nothing to hunt him down, Fareeha. If I just called up outta the blue an’ told him everything, what’d you think that’d do to him? The last nine years, a waste of time? Nah, he’s gotta do it himself; it’s only a matter of time.”

She turned fully, considering him from toe to tip. “You don’t want him to die.”

He looked away from her. “That too.”

A thump made him lift up and see Fareeha slide to the floor against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He got up, ignoring the jerk in his gut and spike of pain in his chest, and sat down beside her with enough room to breathe.

She ran a hand down her face, closing her eyes with a defeated sigh.

“One part of me wants justice, for him to pay for what he did.” She almost growled, curling her free hand over her knee and digging her nails into the bone. “But another part is telling me that if Jesse McCree of all people can see reason for him to redeem himself, there must be _something_ there.”

“Yeah, same here.” He breathed, resting his head back against the wall. “I need someone to talk to ‘fore I drive myself crazy.”

“I get that, I think.” She stretched her legs out, crossing them. “I need to think about this, Jess.”

“I know, sorry.”

“Y’know what the funny thing is?”

He tilted his head to her and she did the same.

“Only _you_ could fall for a guy like Hanzo Shimada.”

 

**0XX0**

 

Fareeha knocked herself after downing the last of the coconut water with a couple of potassium tablets and Jesse let her take the mess of the bed while he purged his stomach out in the dingy bathroom toilet. The relief flooded him as distant sounds and smells returned to him, the amber in his eyes shining brighter than before. He washed his mouth of qualms and bitterness, slipping into the routine of wolf guard before he could remember that it didn’t make sense anymore and that he was as lonely as before.

Down on three legs, he curled up at Fareeha’s feet and focused on the sounds of the creaking building, her shallow breathing and the nightlife hiding out in the streets miles away. He fell in and out of consciousness, never long enough to actually call it sleep but certainly not enough that he was awake the rest of the night.

The sun came up soon enough, breaking through the edges of the blinds and warming him in all the right spots. He rolled onto his back, letting his legs stretch into the air, and yawned widely. He opened an eye on Fareeha and found her scrolling through his phone, wide awake with a look of concentration aimed at the screen.

Jesse whined and poked her with his nose. Her eyes darted to him and she sunk into the pillows, a shadow of a smile on her lips.

“You left your phone unlocked, tonto.” She whispered, scooching aside as Jesse sat up properly to pout at her. “Don’t worry, I haven’t looked at any messages from before yesterday.”

He kept pouting and crawled up to her, resting his head on her arm. The colours of the screen were dull and he couldn’t make out much at this angle, but she was looking at a picture. He didn’t have many of them saved on this burner, which meant she was checking out evidence.

“Pup’s siblings don’t really look like her.” She murmured, lowering the phone down and pointing it at him. He blinked and the picture cleared into the photo he took of himself lifting Iwanko and Hachiko onto his shoulders to prove to Hanzo that he could. He was smiling wide despite the spirits’ attempts to bite his beard off, holding onto them tight with a balance he hadn’t known himself to be capable of.

The lengths a cowboy would go to prove an archer wrong.

Faheera scrolled to the next photo and Jesse’s head snapped up, tongue hanging out and tail wagging like a small puppy.

It was another photo of him and the wolves, this time on the couch with them trying to smother him and only succeeding in making him laugh into blurred lines. Hanzo was in the background, relaxed and watching them from the kitchen doorway with a smile that was far too rare for his liking.

Fareeha zoomed in on him and pulled the phone back. “That’s him? Really?”

He boofed quietly, nodding.

“He doesn’t look like a murderer.”

No one ever did, that’s how most got away from justice.

She breathed and exited the photos, going over the messages shared over the past day. Terrible jokes and attempts at flirting between somber moments of talking about nothing just to fill the silence. Fareeha’s expression didn’t change as she went over them again, pausing at last night’s request for permission. Her thumb brushed over the words, as if they would come out and tell her everything she needed to know if she was gentle enough.

“I’m still processing this,” she said as she ran her fingers through his fur, “it’ll take a while, it’s a lot to take in but I trust you, Jess. I won’t say anything.”

He leant into her touch and she scratched around his ears the way he liked it. He closed his eyes and laid his head on her stomach like he used to way back when. It was so easy to slip into a little white lie like that, but that wasn’t any way to live. He had to face the future as it came, only looking back to escape from the killers out for his head and bounty.

Eventually the sun reminded them there was a world out there to get back into and Jesse shifted back to human form while Fareeha cleaned up in the sorry excuse for a bathroom. Changing into last night’s clothes wasn’t a pleasant experience but he didn’t have much of a choice unless he wanted to swing the serape on and stick out like a sore thumb in an unknown city. It wouldn’t be the best way to go out.

When Fareeha came back into the open, as fresh as could be and brushing out her braids, the only comment she made was how reattaching his arm made more noise than his shifting did now. Training making itself known, she supposed. She didn’t say much else, but she didn’t need to; he knew she was proud of his progress despite how it came to be. He had high hopes.

He packed his things and fixed himself up to fit into Joel’s skin again while Fareeha cleaned up their less than anticipated mess. Their goodbyes were brief but full, promises to keep in touch were made as always and Fareeha assured Jesse that she’d call in a favour in Marrakesh to get him back across the Atlantic. Jesse humoured the idea of trekking over the borders to quickly visit the cabin (his heart still ached and now more than ever did he want to say ‘screw it’ and let Hanzo know this feeling), and quickly disregarded it. He wasn’t so desperate that he couldn’t be away from a friend for more than a few days, so he resolved to cross the Mediterranean sea and cut his traveling time in half.

They parted ways with a long hug and a silent thanks for the help in the early afternoon. Jesse didn’t dare turn back in fear of that primal need to never let go.

He was writing a Morricone blog update while waiting in Alexandria for a ferry to Malta when his phone buzzed with a new text. He switched apps and read Hanzo’s message.

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 17:39]]_

_I’ve accepted a new offer so I shall be off the grid for a week until I’m done. We thought it best if you were informed beforehand_

 

Jesse smiled, the first in many hours, and started typing back. At least Hanzo was back to his usual self; one less thing to worry about.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 17:40]]_

_Aww Sweetheart ya so thoughtful of lil ol’ me_

_Thanks for letting me know. I’ll have to get my crappy puns from another source huh_

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 17:42]]_

_You’ll survive_

_And thank you for last night. It meant a lot to me._

 

Jesse read the message again and pursed his lips, trying to remember through the fog that devoured him. Nothing much was coming through.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 17:46]]_

_????_

 

It was better than trying to guess and getting it horribly wrong, especially with Hanzo who could smell lies off him no matter how many miles between them.

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 17:46]]_

_No one has ever asked before_

 

‘Asked’? What did that mean?

Oh… _Oh_.

The former leader of a yakuza clan, controlled by others without his interests in mind, those who convinced him killing his own baby brother was the best course of action for the family. Those who condemned him to a life, body and soul that was no longer his. They would never ask, certainly not for permission, only take and take and take until there was nothing left of Hanzo but a puppet for them to control.

Jesse supposed it felt good to know he was more honourable and damn well decent than the elders of a crime family. It was a hollow victory.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 17:50]]_

_We’re friends, darlin. I wouldn’t go blabbing about ya to anyone without your okay_

_give Hachi a good scratch from me and tell her she’s the best girl_

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 17:51]]_

_What about Iwanko??_

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 17:51]]_

_the lil troll can kiss my ass_

 

Not that he meant it, but he was still petty after Iwanko’s judgemental bullshit compared Peacekeeper to a children’s toy a few days ago and the wolf punk refused to take back his completely inaccurate statement. Hanzo refused to get between them, to avoid getting out of sync with his spirits which was fine, but it didn’t do Jesse any favours.

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 17:53]]_

_In his own words:_

_fuk u_

 

Jesse laughed and imagined Hanzo was smiling too, as he was oft to do when he watched his wolves get into all sorts of nonsense with others. The thought pacified him and the ghosts were too far away to claw away at him anymore.

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 17:55]]_

_Stay safe on the job, darlin_

_don’t do nothing stupid_

 

_[[SMS: Han Darlin’; 17:56]]_

_That makes no sense but I will comply_

_The same goes for you_

 

_[[SMS: Morricone-y; 17:56]]_

_Of course! Take care Han, I’ll miss ya_

 

Jesse let out a breath and shut off his phone, shoving it into his pocket with a big dumb grin still plastered on his face. Oh, he was in so deep, the complete opposite of what he’d promised himself in the forest in the middle of nowhere. Even with the space between them making him yearn for that corner of time that was theirs again, he found it didn’t bother him as much as it should. Falling for Hanzo Shimada was far from the worst thing he’d ever done.

Yeah, he’d survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow Jesse you really are a mess lol
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!
> 
> (and an extra thanks to you folks who pre-ordered the To Ashes Mchanzo fanzine! We had some amazing numbers and I'm so happy with the results. I can't wait for them to start arriving to you all!)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the comments! I love hearing from you and they keep this fic going!


	10. Astronomy In Reverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's out! And with one busy month out of the way into a stressful month of computer crashes, I announce that this chapter shall be the last one of the year (since I still haven't found a co-writer yet). I'm working on my first art book and trying to raise money to replace my dying computer, but I'll get back to updates in a month or two!
> 
> Super thanks to my beta Autocon21 for being so awesome and pointing out my dumb mistakes throughout all the drafts I did for this chapter, and to nedstark for being the best hype. Go read Modern Courtships and tell her she's awesome, because she is!
> 
> P.S there are SO many references in this chapter and I dare you to find them all. You'll win my friendship.

The week passed like seconds on a clock, and despite his long inactivity, Hanzo slipped back into his role with relative ease. Blocking out McCree’s voice as another arrow sunk into a heart begging for its life was a simple enough task when there was a generous paycheck at the other end. Cases of survival weren’t subject to the cowboy’s judgements of justice and thus Hanzo could lock him away.

But never for long.

In the quiet moments, crossing borders and waiting out summer storms in abandoned corners of the world, Hanzo could hear McCree questioning his every move, every motive. Why wasn’t he looking deeper into these employers? Why would they have enemies they could only get rid of in secret? Is he truly honouring Genji if he only follows such words blindly?

Hanzo argued against him every chance he could, rationalising every choice he made with some deeply buried logic he’d summoned the night the okami slaughtered the Shimada elders. The voice was relentless, however, and when Hanzo finally gave in to ask his spirits for guidance, they took a stance he never expected of them.

_ This is nothing new, Master,  _ Iwanko shook his head with an expectedness one could only find in a soul as old as he.  _ Your conscious has simply been given a voice you’ll actually listen to _ .

_ And without McCree here to distract you, there is no ignoring it any longer,  _ Hachiko said sagely.  _ He’s opened your eyes. _

‘ _ He’s done no such thing _ ,’ Hanzo snapped back. He shut his eyes, rubbing at his aching temples. If he concentrated hard enough, he could see their golden eyes staring back in reserved judgement. McCree may have tried to show him new ways to live, but all he had done was prove how fickle their lines of work were; how little choice they had when it came down to the wire.

He let out a long sigh. No, that wasn’t fair to McCree. He’d wanted to share a part of his life with Hanzo and it’d unfortunately taken a turn for the worse at the eleventh hour. And Hanzo had wanted to experience it, to see if he was right.

His questions hadn’t been answered on the Tarifa job; he doubted they ever would be. All he’d gotten from the mission had been a reaffirmation of his life’s goal and assurance that the last nine years had not been wasted on a fool’s mistake. With every death came honour, and with honour came redemption; in that he was sure. He  _ had  _ to be.

The McCree shaped doubt still lingered in the back of his mind, sneaking more and more into his decisions in the months toward the end of the year. He wanted so much to blame his continued contact with McCree through burner phones, temporary e-mails and seemingly innocent travel blog posts a certain Morricone posted from time to time (the Werewolf Guide 101 he’d posted on Halloween was nothing short of a devilish masterpiece). It would be easy to say his inner conflict was because of the bits of conversation they managed to squeeze in their day-to-day business; that him smirking over McCree saying goodnight to Iwanko and Hachiko in the middle of the afternoon was why this uncertainty clutched at his heart.

But logic ruled otherwise, try as he might to say to the contrary. McCree had opened an inconvenient truth to his eyes weeks before and they hadn’t spoken of it since departing each other’s company, both out of respect and not wanting to confront the awkwardness. His own mind was turning against him and to his own chagrin, Hanzo was incredibly stubborn.

This habit continued throughout the new season and into the next, job after job and payment after payment. He absorbed himself in his own beliefs, no matter how loud other voices became. They deemed it right to pull him off his path, shatter everything he’d worked so long for. They wanted Genji’s memory to wither away as unworthy scum as the elders believed and made him believe. He refused to be deceived in such a way ever again, as he’d vowed to himself on that bloody night long ago.

In the end, Hanzo’s unravelling was of his own doing.

_ You’re self-destructive, aniki. _

In the middle of a text conversation with McCree detailing his latest trek into Canada’s wilderness for the full moon one early November morning, Hanzo received an offer from a new employer to take out a company traitor for his standard fee. A typical affair in his line of work, yet something about it nagged at him. He left the contract to gather dust as he studied it, going over every detail with a fine-toothed comb to placate the worries no longer coming from McCree’s baritone. 

Jana Havelková, female, 63 years old, and a financial director within the Magna Consulting offices in Germany until this incident that turned her bosses against her. The briefing only said that she had stolen funds from a recent charity gala and went into hiding with them; she was dangerous and had to be taken out quietly before any larger threats were made. A villain in a pantsuit for the urban world of business and its dark politics that he would pride himself in wiping out. 

Embezzlement was a legal matter, yet this company turned to hiring a renowned assassin to deal with the problem (an assassin with a reputation of ‘no questions asked’, Hachiko pointed out). In any fair court, they would have everything going in their favour and this woman would face all the consequences for the pain her selfish actions caused. This was a problem for the proper authorities to deal with, unless it wasn’t.

Unless. What an annoying word.

Hanzo responded to the offer with a note of consideration and dived head-first into his own investigation. 

Magna Consulting, upon closer inspection, was mostly an empty shell of a company with a few offices around Europe and dozens of employees under their name but on the payroll of a company known as Fellowship Investments. An equally empty and worthless building working underneath the power of someone too high for him to see without revealing himself to predatory eyes. A conglomerate far too mighty to be going after a single thief from one of many companies under their management. 

This was something bigger.

 

**0XX0**

 

Tracking down Havelková was another matter altogether, especially with someone potentially watching his every move. He hadn’t signed anything for these employers and didn’t want to tip them off that he was doubting their integrity or turning against them. They obviously didn’t take such feelings lightly.

The former director made an effort to hide, going in circles under different names, but Hanzo had tracked down far more skilled prey in his lifetime, and eventually found her in rural Georgia to the east of the Tbilisi capital. She was holed away in what could only be a safe house, a small rustic cottage abandoned in the middle of nowhere and owned by nobody of significance (on paper at least). Even so, he couldn’t just walk up to the front door and strike up polite conversation; he had to be smart, threatening yet trustworthy enough on a whim.

He left the confrontation to the dead of night, stripping off his travel disguise to don his armour and pelt. Backed by the waning moon and his ever loyal companions, Hanzo armed himself with daggers and left Stormbow behind to scale up to the second story window on the side of the house. He whispered a quick prayer to whoever would listen and quietly lifted the window open.

Curses flew out and something smashed against the floor as Hanzo ducked his head and rolled into the sparse room, hands above his head before anything could be thrown.

“Don’t shoot, I am here to talk!” He exclaimed in German, lifting his gaze slightly to see Havelková pointing a shotgun at him. Her arms trembled and she stared wide eyed at him, short greying hair falling over her grey eyes. The harsh lighting created valleys in the shadows of her face, highlighting each wrinkle and defect, aging her considerably beyond her 63 years. Fear shaped her from the core and froze her on the spot.

A nefarious criminal, this woman was not.

“I only want answers,” He explained, lifting his head up to stare her down head-on. With a careful hand, he slipped the pelt off and sat up straight, examining his surroundings. A bedroom only in that there was a dust lined bed tucked away in the corner but nothing else. Nowhere to store a firearm; she’d kept it on her person as part and parcel of paranoia. Shards of glass littered the floor by Havelková’s feet and the light above their heads flickered once. Her trembling slowed.

“Wh-Who sent you?” She asked in English, her accent heavy and voice wavering. It was far better than his limited German, so he opted to switch as well.

“No one sent me.” He held her gaze, unfaltering. “Your bosses reached out to me, calling you a thief. They wanted you dealt with swiftly.”

She clicked the safety off. “I won’t let you.”

“Innocent people don’t run,” he almost growled, scowling at her as his patience ran thin. His tattoo burnt on his skin, ready to bite. “And consulting shell companies don’t hire men like me to get rid of thieves. Someone is lying and I want to know  _ who _ .”

She swallowed. They stared, gazes piercing into each other in the deafening silence echoing around all four walls of the too-small room. 

The shotgun lowered. Hanzo could breathe again.

He dropped his hands and closed the window behind him, shutting them off. The air was thick enough to cut a knife through and Hanzo gathered himself; just get through this one talk and he could go back to his own private life. He had to make peace with the haunting questions first.

“Speak.”

And so she did. It was slow and shaky at first, glares bearing her down and tension running too high for the situation, but as Hanzo stayed on his side of the room, only listening, she gained confidence and pace. 

Havelková had been a Magna employee for little over a decade and had taken over as financial director temporarily as the actual director went on maternity leave, which in turn lead her to discovering over 20 years worth of financial discrepancies from the parent company and beyond. Trying to dig deeper into the numbers got the attention of the higher ups, but also revealed to her disreputable connections between Vishkar Corporation and the companies linked to Fellowship Investments. Numerous contracts and wire transfers to politicians in areas that saw sudden increase in Vishkar developments days after communication between parties and silence in those who once opposed them.

She made the mistake of alerting this business to her bosses and they tried to frighten loyalty into her. They made threats when she refused to comply. Hanzo had not been the first person sent to kill her.

She emptied her company accounts, got in touch with an investigative journalist and was now in hiding to ensure the release of her damning account to the world.

Hanzo took it all in stride, separating the facts he needed from the moral implications of these backroom dealings (he had no feelings towards them and he would never need to care about them). Her story was far more believable than Magna’s, but years of vigilance without trust fought against his equal years of training to read people down to the smallest twitch of an eyebrow. One shouting that she had no tells of a liar and that the desperation in her voice couldn’t be faked, while the other screamed no one could be trusted, anyone could be out to get him, the elders would strike him at any moment from any shadowy corner.

He cleared them out and filled them with familiar presences. Iwanko and Hachiko flooded his mind with comforts, old and new. They chased the fears away with snapping jaws and thundering howls like the winds of the northern storm, leaving him with a strange breed of clarity.

There was no way to know the truth without endlessly chasing rumours from both sides. He had to make a choice, take a risk and wait for the consequences.

Shoot the child or let him escape.

“Escape while you can,” Hanzo said to Havelková, spurring her out of her own moment. “You’ll be found again if you don’t.”

She sputtered in her surprise, but he was back out of the window and into the night before anything could stop him.

 

**0XX0**

 

The McCree-toned voice of conscious pulled back in its pestering of Hanzo as he travelled back west, incognito as the sharp salary man he rarely turned outside of work, but the cowboy trailed after his thoughts and Hanzo found himself wondering of his opinion for his bespectacled alter ego. It was unassuming and bland, meant to blend into the background even with his unique features on open display (the glasses blurred his face markings and lack of wrinkles from polite distance, and his tattoo only slipped through the gaps between his gloves and long-sleeved undershirt), but Hanzo knew McCree could make a jape of it. Or a flirtatious comment.

Or perhaps neither considering it was nearing the middle of the night over in Wyoming where he was currently lying low and recovering from wounds.

(He worried, of course he did. He couldn’t help but to chase away the new, strange fears that plagued his waking hours.)

It was perfect timing.

With a wicked smirk plastered on his face, Hanzo checked the train car he sat in. The only other occupants with him were a pair of young men sleeping on each other’s shoulders and facing away from him. The perfect audience for his moment of distraction.

He dropped his bag to the floor and quickly made sure he was presentable up front; smoothed down beard, not a hair out of place in his low ponytail nor a single misplaced crease on his dress shirt and vest. He unbuttoned the first button of his shirt, adding to the cruel torture he was sure to inflict on McCree. 

Hanzo checked the car again before taking out his only burner with a camera and setting it up with a timer on the seat opposite him. Maybe it was a touch too much effort for a joke at their feelings, but it would be worth it. The shutter clicked and he resumed his prior stance, looking no different to how he’d arrived there at the station. He opened the message history and sent the photo with a brief message.

 

_ [[SMS: Kurosawa; 08:54]] _

_ Enjoy. _

 

He turned the burner off, laughing to himself at the myriad of possible reactions waiting for him when he opened it again. With McCree there was no way of certainly knowing, but he did know he’d be satisfied with the result either way. It was something to look forward to once this fiasco was behind him.

His days of silence following his message of consideration had brought thinly-veiled threats upon him from Magna, though nothing to suggest they knew of his excursion to the countryside. They promised swift action if he didn’t agree to their conditions, trying to soften the blow with pretty words and a condescending tone. Intimidation tactics from his youth that he had never appreciated.

He still didn’t.

Finding an appropriate target was no issue once Hanzo dug deeper into his evidence and came across the man who wanted to hire him. Sure, the order came from far above him. However, this Thénardier idiot had been the one to pick him out of the lot and then make an enemy of him. Hanzo was not proud of his name, but Shimada meant honour, and in turn an insult could not be tolerated. Someone had to hold it up to a standard, so it might as well be him.

Judge, jury and executioner, McCree would’ve called him. Hanzo would find time to care about the ramifications later.

For now, he kept his mind clear as he infiltrated the grand Budapest hotel Thénardier and his cohorts were staying at tonight.

He let Iwanko guide him from blind spot to blind spot between security cameras and guard patrols across each floor.

He let Hachiko be his senses, hunting down their victim to his room. 

Then he let the wolves take over in a flash of golden light, snapping their jaw down on Thénardier’s fragile neck, tearing open every inch of skin before he even had a chance to scream. Blood stained their muzzle, dripping from their lip, and deep down Hanzo resisted the urge to throw it all back up.

He fled the scene through the window, white coat disappearing into the cover of night, only one message left behind:

_ “Do not cross the Okami.” _

 

**0XX0**

 

Hanzo slowly opened his eyes and the first things that hit him were the absence of smell, and the empty bed laid before him. The blankets of the cabin bed were wrapped haphazardly around his lower half, while the rest of him was bathed in the warm morning sunlight beaming through the open window. There was no winter breeze yet the curtains fluttered. He sat up on the pillows and lifted his gaze to the lone figure shadowed against the sun.

His edges were blurred, as if he were leaking from his outline, but Hanzo knew that man from anywhere.

“Jesse.”

The cowboy turned around, face as clear as day and smile just as bright. The smoke of a lit cigarillo resting on his lip swirled around and through his beard, never drifting far. His hair, ruffled and soft, was aglow with a halo and contrast with his dark skin, roughened by years of sun and sand. His eyes crinkled with a silent laughter and Hanzo’s heart ached to tell him how splendid he made happiness look. He made it envious like no one else before him ever managed to.

“Mornin’, pumpkin.” Jesse’s voice rumbled through him, trembling to his core. Hanzo shivered and beckoned him closer.

The cigarillo disappeared but the smoke remained, flowing from Jesse’s lips and burning his eyes red like the sun under his skin. In the blink of an eye, calloused hands were on Hanzo’s hips and the bed was full of  _ him  _ again, still smiling and kind.

Hanzo ran his fingers through the hazy lines of his full beard and then traced his nose, all crooked and wonderful in the picture they completed. He brought their foreheads together and closed his eyes, breathing in this rare tranquil moment they could share. He smiled, held Jesse’s face in his hands, and brought them together in a kiss.

Memories of wood smoke, spices and the warm south-western wind blowing filled his mind, everything and more that reminded him of Jesse. Hanzo tangled his fingers into his thick hair as he tilted his head, pulling him closer into a not-so-chaste act of his feelings. Words weighed heavily on his chest, no matter how much he tried to convey them into his actions. It wasn’t enough to just feel them; he needed to speak.

He pulled back and opened his eyes. The words caught in his throat at the sight of Jesse’s thousand yard stare, the golden ring of his iris dim and the sun under his skin cold. The smile on his lips was mourning and struck a deep chord.

“What are you thinking about?” Hanzo asked, hesitant to put more space between them but it kept growing anyway.

“Oh, jus’ how nice things coulda been if you’d chosen this life.”

Jesse slipped out of his grip as his right eye filled with red, overflowing with bloodied tears. His hair fell out. The cabin disappeared in six gunshots, leaving Hanzo in the black. Jesse stood before him, eyes sinking into his head as his skin melted away to bone. He stepped forward, Hanzo stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on his back.

He pushed himself up and knocked into Havelková’s blood-soaked face. He yelled and scrambled back. Her lifeless eyes followed him. Her mouth cracked open, dead skin splintering apart.

An ear-splitting shriek. He shut his eyes, clutching at his head in vain.

Blank faces threw themselves at him. He blinked, they kept coming. Voices shouted, white noise thundering. He couldn’t run, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. All alone in the void was he.

He yelled at the ghosts.

Again.

Again.

They didn’t stop coming, bodies riddled with his arrows, torn apart by his claws. They grabbed him, held him down to the watery black. Drowning in the nothing, he couldn’t breathe— 

A hand wrapped around his neck, pulling him out.

His father’s ashen, sunken face stared back at him with eyes he could not recall.

“Where is your honour? What have you done to our  _ name _ ?”

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Not this. He didn’t— 

A flash of green and his father was gone. Blood seeped from his wounds, his hand tightened around his neck and Hanzo was frozen in terror.

“What have you done to me, aniki? You were supposed to honour me.”

**_NO_ ** .

His edges faded into static, fritzing out and feeding into his faraway screeching voice. Like the lost echoes of their childhood he could not bare to remember, Genji held on tight, face twisted in blood and rage found only on that last night.

_ “What have you done?!” _

 

**0XX0**

 

“Master?”

“Master, it’s us!”

_ Wake up. _

Hanzo snapped open his eyes and gasped, drawing in quick and heavy breaths. White was all around him, silent as the void and unmoving. He curled in on himself, holding onto something he could not feel, the numbness spreading up his arms, gripping his heart— 

Large golden eyes found him, pulling him into the pockets of reality dotting the white. The eyes held onto him and feeling returned until he could recognise the fur circling around him and anchoring him to the ground. Low whines came to him first and he reached out, running his fingers through the hazy softness before bringing their heads together.

Hachiko closed her eyes, relief washing over as she rubbed her nose against his cheeks. Her whine turned into a quiet cry and he pulled her closer, arms wrapped around her large form. She was here, she was  _ real _ . Not like that empty abyss he suffocated in alone. They would always be with him, no matter what the nightmares claimed.

Iwanko moved around him, resting his head on his lap. Hanzo took the moment to absorb his surroundings properly, noticing for the first time that his companions were not their normal selves. Instead of their ghost forms masquerading as Earthly creatures, they were towering over him like the kami they were born from, akin to how he summoned them in battle. Their long near-serpentine bodies wrapped around him, a shield from the dark night and its monsters, overflowing with golden light that flickered as a fire. He weaved his fingers through the flames; it would never burn him.

“I’m alright.” Hanzo said as he pulled away from Hachiko, trying to ignore the hoarse crack in his voice. 

The spirits spared each other a glance, their disbelief ringing like a bell through his head. He frowned and rubbed his eyes, the accusation unsaid between them.

_ The nightmares have never been this bad, _ Iwanko said, lifting his head up to look Hanzo in the eye. His voice echoed off the walls and in his head, the only way they could in these celestial forms.

_ We couldn’t reach you, _ Hachiko slowly unfurled from him and laid down next to her brother.  _ You kept shifting. You scared us. _

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, stroking around their ears and dutifully ignoring the trailing energy shaping fur and claws over his arms. He glanced around the sparse room instead, spotting his bags thrown away from his makeshift bed in the corner, Stormbow lying useless on the cracked floor. An abandoned apartment complex did not a good resting place make, but it was the best he could do in his hurried circumstances.

_ What happened?  _ Hachiko asked, resting her paws over his legs and watching him with eyes too concerned for his state of mind.

The terrors were only brief flickers in his mind now, but he could see them clearly. His father’s disdain, Genji’s rage, Jesse rotting away at his fingertips, the faces…

All those lives he ripped from the Earth.

How many had been innocent? What injustice had he wrought?

Would Deadeye have taken him down in another life?

“I’m not sure.” He whispered and they heard. They curled around him more, taking up every inch of personal space he never had. His mind filled with their presence, comforting and reassuring every old fear. There wasn’t much else he could say about what he saw and heard, but maybe the wise spirits could decipher a meaning from what he could remember. 

He relaxed against the wall by his bed (or tried to) and mindlessly rubbed his thumb over Iwanko’s ear as he did when he was young and learning his way in the world. Except now a heavy load settled on his chest, tainting every question he asked himself. He knew this feeling, but it skirted away from his grasp to understand it. So close, and yet…

_ We know, _ Iwanko stared up at him and tilted his head into Hanzo’s touch.  _ Guilt has not burdened you such in many years. _

Guilt. It fit the term, technically. But he couldn’t resonate with it, not this kind at least. He’d dealt with his regret over his past actions with his vow of honor; it was behind him.

Had it been a lie?

Something dropped into his lap, snapping him out of that spiral. A burner phone lay useless and Hachiko sat hunched over in front of him, paw nudging it closer to his hand.

_ We can only explain within the realms of what you know, _ she flattened her ears and nudged again.  _ An outside view may be more helpful than overestimating our abilities _ .

He looked at the phone, now sitting in his palm, wanting so much to argue back at her. They were his guides, his life companions, his protectors. If they couldn’t help him, then who possibly could?

McCree had started this, and he _ knew.  _ Surely he understood living a lie, your life and promises unraveling because of other people and their failures. Blackwatch had done the same.

Jesse was the only one he could talk to. He was his only friend.

(Such a thought would have brought a hollow chuckle and a remark about the patheticness of it all not that long ago. These days, he was just happy not to be alone anymore.)

He turned on the phone, thankful it wasn’t the one he had used to message McCree on the train (at any other hour, that memory would’ve brought a smug smirk to his lips but that was too far away to entertain the thought of), and typed up a text before he could think twice.

 

_ [[SMS: Phone #1; 04:08]] _

_ Are you busy? I need to talk _

 

Only a minute later, the phone buzzed with a call. Hanzo stared at the number, thumb hovering over the button to accept. Iwanko pressed it for him with a huff.

Hanzo cursed and quickly pressed the phone to his ear, glaring at the wolf and resisting all urges to pinch his ears. 

“Howdy—”

“Hai, Shimada tomōshimasu.” He blinked and mentally slapped himself. Even nine years later, that automatic response was still drilled into him like Omnic programming. He shook his head and crossed his legs, hoping his chest would stop thudding with every beat. “Sorry, old habits.”

“Gotcha. I didn’ get a lick of that anyway.” His voice was low and fully awake, as if it were ready to bounce over the connection. Hanzo closed his eyes, taking note of every syllable and how the dream had failed to capture the life Jesse McCree embodied in his tone.

“It doesn’t matter. Why did you call?” He rested his head back against the peeling paint, staring at the shadows above him. Hachiko and Iwanko rested beside him, content to guard their master for the night.

“Considerin’ you never ask to talk, I figured you needed to talk instead of lettin’ shit rattle in yer head as you type.” Wind brushed against the receiver, buzzing in Hanzo’s ear. There were no distance voices or any hint of a crowd, which meant he was alone. Outdoors. Never a smart plan.

“Where are you? Did you move states?” He asked, closing his eyes to paint a picture.

“Nah, still in Wyoming, darlin’. It’s empty as hell but I’m startin’ to love it. I may never leave or see a skyscraper ever again.” He laughed softly and exhaled slowly, a telltale sign of a lit cigarillo and spices floating around him. “I was walkin’ int’ town to grab dinner when I got yer message, so why not make the most of this time?”

“How long do you plan to walk?”

“Closest town is about an hour’s walk, but if I go slow enough, I can stretch it out to three.” Hanzo shook his head, as close as he could get to rolling his eyes without actually doing so. McCree would surely pick it up over the line.

“You’ll starve before you see another person.”

“Least I can die listenin’ to your lovely voice, darlin’.” Without the energy to laugh, Hanzo hummed as his free hand returned to weaving through fur. “That does remind me, I gotta tell you somethin’.”

“Hmm?”

“You both ruined and made my night with that damn photo ya sent me; I was vexed!” Hanzo snorted, shadow of a smile twinging his cheek. He swallowed, reveling in the distraction and McCree’s soothing baritone. He was there, he was real and  _ alive _ . Nothing he ever dreamed could compare.

“But ya texted me for a reason, so… what happened?” And cut so short.

Hanzo sighed, running through his thoughts. None could hope to form a coherent sentence, or anything close to the dread threatening to corrupt his thoughts. What could he hope to say that could make him understand without digging up that old grief reserved for the worst time of year? If he said too much, rambled too far, he would make a fool of himself. He’d had enough of that already.

“I believe…I’ve made a mistake.” He said slowly, picking his words carefully as to not waver his voice or overwhelm his thoughts.

“Take yer time, I’m listenin’.” McCree said, all laughter and fun put aside for the moment. Hanzo closed his eyes and cleared his throat, willing it not to close up as he spoke.

“In your line of work, you do things so differently to me that I couldn’t help but notice and disagree with in Spain. You meticulously research everything before going in to ensure you have all the facts, that you’re going after the  _ right person _ …”

He took a breath, and McCree waited.

“You made that mistake, but you still went after the people that needed to be taken down. You didn’t go after someone because one lead said to. You consider every scrap you can find and… and you serve justice.”

He barked a cold laugh and ran his hand through his hair, clutching the phone.

“Your methods bled into my work and if they hadn’t, I would have murdered an innocent woman. Because I was hired to, and they expected no second thoughts from me.”

He swallowed, letting the confession sink in. McCree said nothing, only the wind and cigarillo puffs hinting he was still here.

“I vowed I would honour Genji’s memory, take down the worst men I could get to and restore honour to our name. I did it for money, to get by, but I was blinded by my own foolishness and allowed myself to be led around like a, a…”

A  _ dog _ .

“Nine years, I lived a lie and believed it so deeply. Did…did Blackwatch’s fall feel the same, Jesse?”

More silence. Hanzo waited, listening to the haggard breaths. He had promised not to bring up the sensitive aspects of Jesse’s past months ago, but he had to know. He needed to know if he would understand, like everything else. If he could even comprehend a shred of this shame… 

There was shuffling over the line and a curse too quiet to pick up before Jesse came back, voice as steady and words as carefully picked as his.

(What were they so afraid of?)

“Sorry ‘bout that, Hanzo. I wanted to show ya a different way of doin’ right, not cause a crisis of faith or anything.”

“I know.”

“Still. An’, about Blackwatch…” He let out a weighty sigh and gritted his teeth. Hanzo stood by, hanging onto every sound. “It wasn’ quite the same. I spent a long time denyin’ anything was wrong, even though it was right in front of me. I didn’t wanna believe the place I got my second chance was heading down the same path I’d been stuck on when I was 17 ‘n’ stupid.”

Hanzo listened, leaving his questions for another time. He’d always assumed his gunslinger lifestyle  _ was  _ his second chance after everything he’d done in Blackwatch’s shadows, but apparently not. He wouldn’t press; if Jesse wanted him to know, he would’ve said something.

“But then Ana died and there weren’t any excuses left. It wasn’ the Blackwatch I joined to turn my life ‘round ‘n’ help make the world a better place, so I left to do it myself. So yeah, maybe I did live a lie for five or fifteen years. The folk I relied on failed me, but doesn’ mean I failed. Ya keep goin’ and do the right thing, always lookin’ forward.

I can’t tell ya what to do or where t’ go, but I think that answers what you were  _ really  _ asking.”

No, he wanted to argue but his jaw was wired shut, trapping any feeble excuses in. He wasn’t a lost child in need of direction from someone just as messed as him. But he felt like one, and that was enough. 

“Thank you,” was all he could get out. Ultimately he was the only one who could decide how to move forward from this revelation, and he wouldn’t let Jesse take over. This was his journey alone.

“Was there anything else, darlin’?”

The cabin. The dream before the horror, in all it’s smokey imitation of a life he hadn’t chosen. Neither of them had; they knew dreams stayed in your head for a good reason, and they had plenty of those to spare for their situation. 

_ The heart can’t help what it longs for, _ Hachiko hummed from his side, curled up and too innocent for what she was implying. Iwanko sounded his agreement.

Hanzo pursed his lips and cleared his throat. “What about regrets?”

“Oh, I’ve had a few.” Jesse’s voice tilted with a familiar tune he couldn’t quite place at that moment and faded into a chuckle. “Everyone’s got ‘em hangin’ off their backs like lil’ devils. That’s why forward’s the best way to go; they’re still there, but they can’t haunt ya as bad.”

“Is that not the same as running?” Like a coward;  _ like shame unworthy of the Shimada name, son _ .

“Don’ reckon so. Runnin’ means ya hide from the past, deny it and wear a mask of a person who jus’ can’t exist.” More shuffling and a deep inhale, cigarillo likely put out for later use. “Regrets build up an’ crush the soul who don’t accept he’s done wrong. But keep movin’ ahead, knowing that the past isn’t who you are anymore—”

“It’s still a part of you.” But not  _ all  _ of you. He knew what he had to do.

“Heh, you’re catchin’ on, darlin’. I can’t rightly say my past doesn’ affect what I do these days, hell it almost defines it, but you get what I’m sayin’? Damn, I…” The wind caught on the receiver and there was more cursing out into the air. “You know where Gabriel Reyes picked me up from? An interrogation room after I’d shot four of his agents dead. Deadlock made a killer outta me long before I got turned an’ I’m still paying that price, so I’m sure as hell spendin’ my days makin’ sure the price is paid.”

Deadlock. He’d heard the name a handful of times over the years, always in tow with dealings and ridiculous amounts of money for a ‘small time’ gang. They stole and traded high class weaponry with the highest bidders, shot down whoever got in their way. Jesse’s bounty was so high in part because of their hunt for him, a traitor in their eyes. That’s where the gunslinger rose from.

It made sense, yet it still seemed so foreign to him. Jesse McCree, the man who ran his way to avoid hurting anyone under the full moon, who sought justice for the wronged above all else. Born in blood and bullets amongst the most rotten.

(Maybe he really did have a chance.)

“Sorry for loadin’ all that on ya, Han.”

“No, I… I understand. You’re finally starting to make sense to me.”

“Nah, you’re just translatin’ my accent better on account of talkin’ to me so much.” He finally laughed, mirth gathering in the crease of his brow. He tutted at the cowboy, rolling his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You wouldn’ have me any other way, darlin’. Do y’know where yer going now?”

Hanzo nodded to himself, glancing down to his resting wolves and to his scattered arrows across the floor. He didn’t seek justice like Jesse did; he merely wanted to do right by his brother’s memory, and that meant changing his methods. No longer would he be made the fool or the one to kill the blameless. He’d strike at the corrupt who brought the clan to ruin, regain the honour they’d lost that night.

Other questions still clung to his mind like smoke to his dreams, begging for release. No more distractions, there would be another time for such talks but now was not for those. He had to move.

“Yes, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Hanzo, you're trying. It's still gonna take a Genji-shaped kick to get you on the right path, try as McCree might.
> 
> Keep sending in your lovely comments, they lift my spirits and inspire me to write even more!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	11. All I Wish For, All I Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but life is busy as always and only getting more so for the next several months so updates will be slow until I can get a co-writer to help out! Thanks again to my beta and friends for being awesome <3
> 
> Until next time...
> 
> :^)

_ -Mamihlapinatapai- _

_ A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin. _

 

**0XX0**

 

Calling Hanzo on the way to town hadn’t been the way Jesse imagined his afternoon going, but he was glad for his split-second decision. Hanzo sounded much better by the end of it (though obviously holding something back), closer to his usual aura of confidence and self-assurance. It took some time and trauma, but he was changing his ways and, well, Jesse was pleased as punch about it.

He’d done some good, helped a man as doomed as himself turn his life around for the better. He wished he’d had more self-control to not blurt Deadlock out like that, but in the heat of the moment, full of emotion and memories, he couldn’t help himself. It was only his barest sense of shame that stopped him from spilling the gory details as well. Considering  _ who  _ he’d been talking to, that sense was far stronger than he had thought. He couldn’t keep every secret to himself forever; he just needed to find a way to word it out loud without losing the meaning. If he was going to pour his heart out for catharsis, even to Hanzo, it had to mean everything.

(Fareeha didn’t count; she’d always known the ins and outs of his life, but never from his mouth.)

(Genji never wanted to hear his woes. He had enough of his own to deal with in the five years they worked together.)

Once he hung the phone up and wished Hanzo a good rest, he’d reached the town and dove headfirst into a hearty lunch designed to fill stomachs and clog arteries. No one batted an eye at him despite his stranger status, so he kept his hat brim low and head ducked into the collar of his winter coat to keep it that way. Wyoming was the perfect state to disappear into, especially if you were a South Western kid who didn’t overly mind the northern winters and liked to keep his hat and spurs together. Hell, even his chaps and buckle got no more than a curious stare from passersby on the weekdays he happened upon civilisation. 

Thankfully he was only in jeans today, so he was left alone to inhale his rancher’s meal and be on his merry way two hours later. He went around town like any good tourist would and watched the too-early holiday decoration light up with a sour grimace before the sun had a chance to dip.

Nowhere close to December and fairy lights wrapped around angel wings were already on every street corner for locals to admire and ignore until they were scheduled to be taken down for another year. Colours shone brightly, even in the mid-afternoon, across the streets and over buildings, lighting the roads a rainbow of colours and nostalgia for the Pre-Crisis era. He was sure they looked nicer in the dark, but he wasn’t hanging around today. He made a mental note to get a photo for Hanzo another day; he may be a Scrooge but he was sure Christmas was a time of year enjoyed in Japan.

(Part of him wished the archer was here to share this like they did on nights by the fire.

He pushed it out of his mind.)

As he made his way out of town, Jesse mused to himself on how to press forward. No one followed him to or from Canada, and it’d been over a week since that full moon without any of his instincts ordering him to run to the ends of the Earth. He was safe as safe can be.

But logic determined that it couldn’t last; he had to move before his trail was caught by any interested hunters. As if he didn’t already have enough to put up with.

Isn’t that was made his life exciting anyway?

By the time Jesse got back to his safehouse, he’d secured a plan for himself. Down south through Utah to Arizona’s south cities there had been leads pointing to a weapons shipment between two unknown parties that stunk of the oil and sweat on a Deadlock bike. The only fact that gave him pause was the lack of hollerin’ from the gang; something like this was crowed about from the rooftops for ‘advertisement’, yet it was all quiet down on the front. But everything else, from the set up to Deadlock’s activity around San Carlos this month, it proved it was them.

Even if it wasn’t, mid-to-east Arizona was definite Deadlock territory and if someone was doing trades there, it would spark a massacre with no mind to whoever got caught in the crossfire. If anything, the Gunslinger could prevent innocents from getting killed.

He was the man for the job.

 

**0XX0**

 

_ [[SMS: Morricone-y; 06:03]] _

_ you ever get the feelin youre being watched??? _

 

_ [[SMS: Han Darlin’; 06:03]] _

_ You’re being spied on? _

 

_ [[SMS: Morricone-y; 06:05]] _

_ not sure. Can’t smell or see anythin but my hackles are def raised _

 

_ [[SMS: Han Darlin’; 06:06]] _

_ Get out of there if you haven’t already _

 

Jesse pursed his lips and pocketed his phone before shoving his gloved hands into his coat. Flagstaff was hardly cold in mid-November (and considerably warmer than Saskatchewan at any time of year), but there was a northern wind turning the weather more bitter than he liked. He wanting desperately to shift and enjoy his thick winter fur. However, he was among people today, so it simply wasn’t an option.

He adjusted his cap (his usual wide brim stowed in his travel bag lest he he recognised) and pulled up the scarf over his nose to discreetly study his surroundings. The bus station was mostly empty, a few early bird travelers sitting around ignoring each other and making absolutely no eye contact. He sniffed the air - no change from when he’d entered. There was nothing behind him but a brick wall, and there was nothing outside that he could see or hear but a lifting fog.

Jesse huffed and scratched at his ear, hiding his pout. There was paranoia and then there was this… this uncertainty. It was worse by far. At least his paranoia was based off experience and training. There was nothing here that suggested abandoning his current plan for Hanzo’s advice would do him any good, so he waited.

He stayed on edge until the morning bus took him and the others away from the city and down to Tucson. The eyes on his back left him but he could still feel the imprints all over him, keeping him on his toes for hours across highways and distant visions of a war life. He took his phone out to stave off boredom and saw an unread text@

 

_ [[SMS: Han Darlin’; 06:08]] _

_ Be careful out there, Jesse. I’m in Havana if you’ll need somewhere to hide out. _

 

Jesse smiled at the message, mumbling under his breath for being a soft hearted sap, and directed his attention to Joel’s e-mails and alerts. He could use this time between now and the weapons trade to keep his alias’ life on track, far away from Jesse McCree’s just as God intended.

He got off in Tucson and started off towards his hotel, stretching out his limbs, when he got a chain of new messages.

A Deadlock rogue heading further south.

They were selling insider info and military grade ammunition to whoever was willing to pay.

Information straight from the new ringleader, nothing any authorities would have any clue about. Ammunition stolen from tonight’s trade, dangerous and experimental enough to make the Commander In Chief hesitate.

They would be in Dorado for 3 days, starting tonight.

It was now or never.

Jesse bit his lip, thumbing over the leaked info. While his source wasn’t close to the top, this kind of news was sure to cause an uproar in the ranks; betrayal of this level wasn’t something brushed off in this gang.  _ He  _ was living proof of that.

The timing was awful and he didn’t like it one bit. If it’d come from anywhere else from local papers to the police scanner in his communicator, it would make him suspicious, but he knew his contact, done his research and all. The kid didn’t lie in Tarifa when it would’ve suited them best, and the messages were in line with everything else sent to him in the past, so they hadn’t been caught either.

( _ Trust nobody; you’re a lone agent; they all turn on you in the end! _

_ ‘Shut  _ **_up_ ** _ , Jefe.’) _

He still had the trade to infiltrate and shut down tonight, but that would leave him with no time to get anywhere near the Puebla state before the rogue was gone by themselves or by Deadlock’s hand, leaving him at square one in dangerous territory all over again. 

Fuckin’ hell, what a shit show.

Jesse gripped at his hair and growled, feeling his canines dig into his lip. He put his phone away and marched the rest of the way to the hotel, running a mental marathon. How the hell could he get around this? Didn’t they used to make TV movies about this kinda thing?

No, wait, that was prom dates. Think, Jesse! Think!

Dorado was a twenty seven hour drive across time zones (maybe longer if he was extra careful about Border Control) which left him with just over two days to track down the rogue without arousing suspicion or attracting any unsavoury eyes, then get away before Deadlock caught him and-slash-or killed him. Wonderful.

The quickest route was a seven hour plane ride to Puebla City and continuing to Dorado on foot, which would give him pretty much the whole three days to do what he needed (if he left right now, that is). But that would require using one of his fake passports that could be caught by airport security at any time. None of his alias’ were supposed to be anywhere near him, however, so anyone watching  _ them  _ would have all warning flags flying high.

His safest option would be to stay put and keep to his original plan. However, if he let that information and goods get into hands that weren’t willing to deal with Deadlock personally, then he was compliant in letting terrible power grow. Even if it was just the Los Muertos gang, it certainly wasn’t an option.

And having access to top tier gang secrets would be useful in his future missions too. It could open up so many locked doors and dead ends, making him as effective as a Blackwatch strike team in its prime. That wasn’t something he could let slip by without consideration.

He had the experience and luck to back him up, as always, and it had gotten him through worse odds than this. He lived his life with $60 million on his head with no more than a few scars and a lot of stories to show for it. He was more than fine; he was  **_ready_ ** .

His burner beeped with another message and Jesse frowned as he read it.

 

_ [[SMS: Han Darlin’; 09:36]] _

_ Are you safe? _

 

His thumb hovered over the reply button as his stomach twisted and heaved. He pursed his lips and hissed as he turned the phone off.

“Sorry, Hanzo.”

 

**0XX0**

 

It was a trap.

He’d walked right into an elaborate trap lined in silver and barely escaped with a deadly bullet melting away his skin, blood and everything.

Even without his armour to make him stand out from the crowds, they’d found him and shot at him.

Now he was hiding in a goddamn tree while biker junkies sniffed him out, awkwardly clasping at his wound with his metal hand to hold it together long enough to find Angela. He tore his glove off with his teeth, letting it fall way down, and pulled up her profile on his communicator with trembling fingers. He clicked on the location tab and glanced down at the ground, making himself smaller in the shadows as a grunt walked under his branch.

He breathed through his nose, muffling his groans into the serape around his neck as he watched the screen buffer for long, painful seconds.

 

Dr. Angela Ziegler, last known location: Haifa, Israel.  
Current Coordinates: [INVALID PROFILE | ACCESS DENIED]

[CONTACT ADMINISTRATOR]

 

Oh no. 

No no no no  **_NO_ ** .

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was real… 

He was going to die.

His breathing quickened and jesse let out a low whine, not bothering to shake the sweat dripping into his eyes. He dropped the communicator into his lap and clutched at his shirt, the minute movement jerking his bloodied left side (the silver had gone through his padding, shot at an angle to burn his colon and poke at his kidney, oh God no he only had one left—)

You’ve only just only just entered hypovolemic shock, McCree. You’ll survive, but only if you’re smart.

“Ana…” Oh, he was a moron. She’d have his hide if she knew what he’d done today. He was better than a  **_trap_ ** and yet… 

Yet he’d dared to hope the tides were turned in his favour, that he could get ahead of the game in such a simple move. His luck was running out.

Jesse looked down at himself, the smell of blood flooding his senses, and saw the red stain on his shirt darkening. He couldn’t stay in this tree, he had to get further away from Dorado than he already was, maybe find someone to remove the bullet.

The fur and claws growing in and out told him and ordinary doctor would do him no good.

Angela was the only medic qualified to treat him with his condition, and she was three continents away from him. He’d bleed out before she ever had a chance to leave her current infirmary.

Mercy had nothing left to give him.

An echoing ding brought Jesse out of his spiral and turned his head to the ground again. More grunts had stopped under his tree, staring down at their purple-tinted screens and muttering to each other. Jesse perked up and leaned in to listen.

“Val says he turned back to Dorado!”

“Without us spottin’ him? He’s leaving enough blood t’ follow.”

“A  _ diversion _ , pendejo. That freak isn’t to be taken lightly.”

“That silver oughta kill ‘im soon enough, we just gotta wait—”

_ Ding _ !

“¡Joder! Ramírez caught him!”

“C’mon, chingados!”

And they left. Quicker than Gonzales, Jesse was left alone in his friggin’ tree to bleed out and die. He let out a choked breath and blinked away the tears of relief, resting his head against the tree and letting his hat cover his face. He was safe, finally safe.

But as the waxing moon and empty rural hillside reminded him, not out of the woods.

He picked up his communicator and scrolled through his contacts. Most agents still on friendly terms with him had combat first aid skills, enough that could remove a bullet he couldn’t touch without losing another hand (and as much as he loved his prosthetic, he was the first to admit it wasn’t calibrated in a way that wouldn’t cause more damage), but as he checked their locations, his stomach dropped further.

Ana was last heard from in Ethiopia months ago.

Mulaney had died in Busan five months ago.

Bakke disappeared in Bangkok with scarce a trace.

O’Deorain… Never.

Jesse groaned and sat up, holding onto his left side with a vice grip to keep the bullet in place (not that did much). He put his communicator away and carefully slid his way down the trunk, helped only by his half-formed claws digging into the bark to slow his descent.

His land left much to be desired and his insides hated him for the jostling, bleeding that bit extra to show him such.

He gritted his teeth through the pain and checked himself over. He was spilling fluids everywhere like a faucet, so little chance of a trail if he treaded carefully; his armour padding was tight, useless and sticky, and his glove was lost to the underbush of this grassy desert.

He headed south, as far from that town as he could get tonight. He had no safehouses this deep in Mexico, and Overwatch never set up any long-lasting bases below El Paso. Everything he needed was up north, but he couldn’t risk going near Dorado again, and it would take too long to go around. Cover had to be somewhere else - an empty barn, a miner’s cave, an abandoned country house even. Civilisation was never far off; his luck couldn’t be that low already.

He kept his nose and ears to the wind, sneaking around the evening shadows as quietly as one could with a lump of silver burning their inner organs. Jesse only let himself a few growls and whines, watching over his shoulder the entire time. Maybe O’Deorain wasn’t the worst idea. She was a geneticist first but Angela had trained her for field medicine personally.

Even if she wanted him dissected on a lab table, but… 

He did not want to die.

For the first time in years, away from bars and the thrill of adventure, he wanted to run away from Death’s grasp instead of skirting around it like a tempting daredevil.

He didn’t wanna die.

Cursing in every language he knew, Jesse reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone— 

With Hanzo’s message shining up at him.

He gulped and told himself to put it away, grab his communicator instead and save his skin. He didn’t. He kept staring, reading the gays old text over and over.

Hanzo was close, only a few hours away. 

(He’d lose enough blood to have a Class 1 hemorrhage by the time he crossed the Gulf, but with his immune system going into overdrive from the silver, he was at no risk of peritonitis.)

He knew first aid, probably removed more than a few bullets from himself.

(Wouldn’t be the first time Hanzo saved him.)

Jesse trusted him. Hanzo would help him, no matter what.

He pressed call, holding the old burner to his ear. It rang twice, then cleared to that oh-so-wonderful voice.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while, cowboy.”

A smile spread across Jesse’s face, almost faltering his step as he went over a rock. Soft-hearted sap he was indeed. If that meant more of this warmth and lightness in his chest, then he’d accept the title without protest.

“H-Hey, darlin’,” he stuttered, slowing his pace to appreciate the bass of Hanzo’s tone. He could just imagine the archer enjoying the cool Cuban nightlife, nursing a glass of mixed sake to ease his mind. “Are you still in Havana?”

“No, not anymore.” Misery gripped his heart, tugging it down to his stomach. He cursed again under his breath. “Someone was following me too closely for my liking, so I ran to the mainland. I’m a few hours north-west of Guatemala, heading towards Peru for a few weeks.”

He paused, probably trying to watch Jesse through the phone. His eyebrow would be twitching, eyes flashing amber as his spirits conversed with him.

But he was  _ close _ .

“Why do you ask?”

“Han, I… I fucked up, real bad.” Jesse gripped his wound again, pressing metal fingers into the muscle hard enough to break bones, and hissed through the new stab of pain. The silver was getting into his veins, infecting the rest of him. “Chased a Deadlock rogue t’ Dorado ‘n’ got shot with a silver bullet, like the ol’ timey movies. It was a tr-trap…”

His hand shuddered, threatening to drop the phone, and he took a deep breath. He couldn’t give in now, not now.

“Jesse, where. Are. You?” Hanzo asked, stressing each word as it came out. 

“Goin’ south, far as I can go. T’wards Oaxaca, I think…?” His words were starting to slur, and he was so tired. He had to keep going, find somewhere to hide until help came. He blinked hard and tightened his grip on his wound, picking up his pace again.

“I need more than that, Jesse! I won’t reach you in time—”

“I got a few hours, darlin’. Bleedin’ ain’t too bad but good God it hurts like a bitch.” He laughed, wet and hollow. “Hachi can track me, she’s a good girl.”

“Jesse, get somewhere safe and  _ stay  _ there. Message me once you know where you are—”

A twig snapped. Birds rustled in the few trees and flew off with the bats. Jesse spun around, watching every spec of dust.

“Gotta go, see ya soon.” He ended the call before Hanzo could argue and watched the bats fly high above him. Even with only the moonlight, he could spot their details: large ears, wings a few inches long, a round furry body zipping around at speeds not known to many species. A Free-Tailed bat colony meant they were resting somewhere protected, and with the old mining hills at least a mile away, that meant a building. 

That was safe.

Another smile made its way to his face but it feel when his eyes took in his injured side. Blood was leaking between his fingers, despite the grip. Any tighter and he’d crush his own kidney himself, and that was the last thing he needed today. He didn’t have anything but the gear attached to his belt, none of which could be used as bandaging. His shirt was beyond ruined and unable to soak up anymore blood, the padding was clogged by it and was starting to weigh him down.

Delicately, he peeled off the kevlar padding under his shirt, wincing as it pulled on his drying skin. He bit down on his tongue and wretched it off with enough force to throw it far behind him. The open wound screeched in pain at the exposure and he clamped his flesh hand over it, breathing through his teeth. It did little to sooth anything, so he buried his chin into his serape and licked his lips.

Jesse tugged his serape off (this old brown rag wouldn’t be missed if he lived through this) and haphazardly folded it vertically, then wrapped it around his midsection as tightly as he could manage. He tied it up in a quick knot and pressed down on the hole exposing his innards. He shook his metal hand, nerves firing off at his stump, and moved onward.

The bats above flew in a cloud, moonlight shining off their leather wings as they attempted to escape the predator on their trail. Jesse watched them over the landscape and over mounds until they dipped down, disappearing into the valley’s plunge where light touched little. Jesse stood at the top of the decline, narrowing his eyes at the shadows. A quick listen around revealed he was still alone, bar the birds and sleeping mice — 

_ Hunt heal  _ **_fight_ ** _! _

— Jesse growled, forcing his fangs back to bluntness. Shifting, no matter how much the wolf wanted it, would turn this shitshow into an unmitigated disaster. He took out his communicator and pointed the flashlight down, blinking as it reflected off flat roof tiles.

A run-down, overgrown early 21st century vacation home with an aesthetic that screamed rectangles, glass, and limited durability only seen before the time of Omnics. It was better than nothing.

Breaking in was as simple as punching out the locks with his prosthetic and he stumbled into the empty house, breathing laboured and limbs shaking. Windows on all sides of the front room, exposing him to danger; not good enough.

He limped around the first floor, breaking down doors into rooms just as unprotected as the main until he got to the very back of the building. Hidden in a corner was a bathroom, nothing grand but it's windows were small and touching the high ceiling, giving him enough cover to shoot intruders without a knife in the back.

Jesse took Peacekeeper out of its holster and backed himself against the wall between the moldy shower unit and what was used to be a toilet. Once he hit it, strength left his legs and forced him down onto the tiled floor, holding his gun high as the wind howled outside and the bats cried in the roof, stirring his inner beast.

 

**0XX0**

 

Jesse wasn’t sure how much time passed, hyperfocused on the doorway to the bathroom and holding Peacekeeper up for the killing shot. Every sound, smell and taste was muted, his vision bordering on black spots. It was a familiar feeling from his more human years, and it was terrifying. 

He pressed down on his gaping wound, ignoring the blackened fluids flowing between his fingers and the bullet moving around his muscles and organs, turning every brush of flesh into a burning flare coursing through him. His heart thundered in his ears, the cold filling and draining him all at once. He clenched his jaw through the pain and kept breathing steady, repeating Angela’s mantra of in and out, in and out, in and out. His prosthetic finger tittered against the trigger, nerves going off in all directions every second. His stump shriveled and pulsed against its metal connections, wanting to just throw it off and curl up on the tiles to let the silver consume him.

But he couldn’t, not now. He had to wait for Hanzo, just a little while longer.

He’d be there soon.

God, he had to be there soon.

(Like hell Jesse McCree would die on the floor of an abandoned bathroom in the middle of a Puebla town like a damned mutt. He was gonna die historic and all that shit.)

A loud thud jerked him away from his thoughts and Jesse grunted as he tried to sit up, arm straining to hold Peacekeeper at a respectful height. His fingers began to shake and he cleared his throat, the taste of stale bile punching through his dulled senses. There were voices, a few rooms away that he couldn’t make out. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring what he could still see.

A white head appeared in the doorway and he shot it.

It didn’t fall. The voices came back, louder but no clearer than before.

“Jesse!” A woman’s voice called out, echoing. His arm fell from position, lying limp against his leg. He couldn’t feel Peacekeeper either.

“Sorry, Ana…”

He could hear Captain Amari scowling down at him, all too disappointed at the waste she’d put on him. All that time and effort, all for this. Wherever she was today, he knew she was feeling his failure.

(What would Jefe think?)

“Cub, open your eyes!” He blinked, blurred colours slowly coming into focus. The white figure was hovering over him, taking over his space. When had he slipped off?

“Hachiko, let him breathe.” Hanzo. Hanzo was here, oh thank the Lord— 

“D-Darlin’…”

“Not a word.” Hachiko’s blur moved away and Jesse blinked again, vision clearing enough to make out Hanzo’s silhouette standing over him. He crouched down, fury radiating off him as he got up into Jesse’s face, a snarl ready to rip the parts of him the silver hadn’t reached yet.

“McCree, you are a fucking idiot!”

“He-Hey now…” Jesse lifted his head up to face Hanzo better, but that only served to jolt the bullet and send another wave of torment through his body. He groaned through his sharpened teeth, breathing turning harsh as he gripped his side, blood flowing more freely.

He blinked again, black spots receding like tide waves and his sights cleared enough to make out the dimming anger in Hanzo’s eyes watching his face. He kept breathing, prosthetic hand clinging to Hanzo’s arm.

“Han, I-I know I was stupid, but-but, don’ wanna argue no-now _ —goddammit _ .” He tightened his grip, groan coming out more as a whimper and he squeezed his eyes shut as another spasm went through him.

Hanzo shifted around him, hands going over his front and carefully removing his serape. Jesse kept his grip on his arm, feeling the rest of the world fade away. He opened his eyes again in time to watch Hanzo unbutton his shirt and peel the padding off the wound. His skin was black, purple, yellow, green and all the colours it wasn’t supposed to be. Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath and turned away.

“Iwanko, go and guard. Hachiko, bring the bag here and help him.” A pair of barks confirmed their physical presence and Hanzo glanced back to Jesse, concern washing over his flared temper. “We will be talking once you’re more lucid, Jesse. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

“I reckon I go-got an idea…”

“Only some.” Hanzo huffed as he reached behind him and pulled out a cloth of something or other, Jesse couldn’t tell without squinting. His prosthetic was pulled off Hanzo’s arm just as he pressed the cool cloth to the wound.

Jesse hissed and whined at the sting, throwing his head back against the wall in a vain attempt to not squirm. He felt a cold nose press against his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes and reminding him of how Ana did the same to Fareeha whenever she was sick. 

“Good girl, Hachi…” He whispered as his grip loosened on his side (was that him or Hanzo?) and he reached to scratch her ears. She leaned into the touch for a moment before nuzzling his cheek and walking off. His muscles twitched and another stab pierced him as fingers prodded through the blood and gore.

“C-Careful, Han, you’ll move it.” Jesse grunted as he curled his flesh hand into a tight fist, claws digging into his palm.

“Sorry.” Hanzo moved away from the wound and turned his attention to his prosthetic. “I’ll remove your arm. It can’t be doing your nerve endings any favours.”

Jesse nodded and kept his fist closed as Hanzo deftly and swiftly disconnected the limb from the reddened stump, the wireless connection not even registering underneath everything else going off in his skin. The relief was instant, if brief, and Jesse let out a long sigh.

Hanzo’s hand landed on his shoulder, jerking him back to look at him properly. “As foolish as you can be sometimes, you are also incredibly stubborn and I have never been more thankful for that than I am right now.”

Jesse nodded again and swallowed back the lingering bile to throw him as charming a smile as he could muster. “Y’know me, darlin’. I-I ain’t goin’ down without a good fight.”

“I prefer you don’t go down at all.” He smiled back, only slightly shaky.

“An-And here I thought I’d get a chance t’ go dow-down on ya.” Jesse smirked, old habits breaking through the dreary air of the moment. He got a glare for his efforts, but the archer was still smiling.

Hanzo hovered over him, checking the wound with as few touches as possible. Still, he twitched and winced whenever the breeze so much as changed direction. He grit his teeth, grinding them down to dust and staring at the tiles; if he closed his eyes, he wasn’t sure if they would open again. Hanzo’s hand remained on his shoulder, slowly rubbing circles into the sore muscles.

“You’re too tense, McCree. I’ll only cause more organ damage if you don’t relax.”

“Han, I think th-the world of ya, but -  _ shit _ ! But you try re-relaxin’ when yer blood’s on fire  **_fuck_ ** !”

Jesse clenched his fists as another stabbing pain shot through him, sending more boiling acid through his veins and all over, God it hurt everywhere—

Suddenly he was looking at Hanzo, far closer than he needed to be. The harsh light accented his features, sharpened his cheekbones, and with him this close, Jesse could see the details that made this man. The slope of his angled nose, the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes, the soft wrinkles he was sure weren’t there a few months ago. Small thin scars were mapped out over his face, only noticeable this close up. Jesse wanted nothing more than to count them and hear the stories.

Hanzo brought his bare hand to his face, running his fingers through his uneven beard and holding him firm, a thumb ghosting over his cheek. Jesse blinked, faintly aware of the other hand going over his chest. Hanzo stared at him, eyes lidded and a slight dimple hinting at a smile.

“I’ve never noticed it before,” he whispered as the smile broke through and lit the world up, “your eyes have specks of grey in them.”

“Do they?” Jesse breathed, holding everything in as another twinge of pain crawled up his side, something moving. He took a deep breath, air full of that scent so uniquely Hanzo. It was almost enough to make everything okay again.

Hanzo moved closer and their noses bumped, eyes no longer meeting. His hand cradled Jesse’s face and held him up to kiss him.

A million thoughts raced through Jesse’s mind as time stopped around them in a white haze, but one was the clearest:  _ this  _ is what he wanted more than anything.

He moaned low in his throat and sank deeper into the kiss. He parted his lips, dry and cracked against healed splits, inviting Hanzo in and he took it with a slow but sure enthusiasm. Jesse gripped at his hair with his flesh hand; he’d apologise for the blood later. All that mattered now was keeping Hanzo - his confidant, his kindred, his packmate, his  _ friend  _ \- as close as possible for the rest of his days.

It was overwhelming, the scent of sandalwood, the taste of copper and weak sake, the distant touches over bare skin, and it was over with a piercing pain to his wound.

Hanzo broke the kiss sitting up, proud and regal with blood-stained mussed up hair and smirking lips on the edge of bruising, holding up a thick glinting dart dripping in blood.

“Not a bullet, but just as deadly.” He affirmed, breathless and reminding Jesse he needed to breath as well. Hanzo threw the dart away to Hachiko and Iwanko as they scuttered off (weren’t they supposed to be guarding the bathroom?) and turned on the biotic emitter sat next to them.

Its warm glow spread over the wound, soothing his fried nerves and veins enough for them to stop screaming. The skin steadily knotted itself back together, so instead he focused on Hanzo. 

“Han…”

“I wanted to, Jesse. I’ve wanted to for a while now.” Hanzo said, flushing in their shared heat and under his stare. He  _ knew  _ that, they’d both wanted to do so much more than this for months but stopped themselves at the edge every time. So why now? Why lead him on a pipe dream that could never go beyond this almost perfect moment?

“When you called me to say you had been shot with silver, I had to imagine a world without you.” His voice dropped to a strained, hard whisper. His eyes flickered to Jesse’s right eye but made no contact.

_ Ghosts _ .

“It occured to me that world is one I never want to be a part of.” His hands rested on his chest, shaking. “I care about you, Jesse McCree. More than I can admit.”

The aching weight in his chest slipped away, sending his heart soaring into his chest. Hanzo was by no means a man of words; Jesse had learnt he spoke through his actions and attention to detail. What he did say had purpose behind it, whether it was to scorn him with sarcasm, ruffle him with laughter or to simply prove a point.

Yet, he looked uncertain. Jesse swallowed, sobered by the sight of the man he adored to the point it threatened him not able to meet his eye, and he reached out to intertwine their fingers. Hanzo gripped his hand tightly, tattoo glowing between them.

“Me too, darlin’. God, I like ya so much, you have no idea.” Jesse lifted their hands to his lips, careful of his side, and kissed Hanzo’s knuckles one by one.

“I think I have some idea.” Hanzo chuckled softly, watching their joined hands with a smile he gave to no one else.

“Only some, sweetheart.” He closed his eyes, holding Hanzo’s fingers to his lips. He inhaled, taking in the sparking scent he could never name but revived his soul with every breath. He could never get enough of it.

Their grip on each other tightened and Jesse opened his eyes in time to see Hanzo move in again. Lips pressed to his forehead and he couldn’t help the whine that escaped. Hanzo brought his free hand to the back of Jesse’s head, kneading his fingers into the skin behind his ear in that one spot that never failed to make him limp from pleasure. He smiled and turned to lean into it, kissing Hanzo’s palm once he could reach it.

“Jesse,” Good God, how the name rolled off his tongue like something to be proud of, “you need to rest off your injury.”

“Just a sec, honeybee.” Jesse took in one last breath, committing it to memory, before pulling himself up to kiss Hanzo again. 

Hanzo held onto him, gripping his hair and leaning in to kiss him back. His eyelids felt heavier with every passing second, the excitement dwindling down to an ember tightening his gut into a knot, leaving him with the tempting desire to sleep held back only by the burning touch of one Hanzo Shimada.

He slowly moved away and Jesse followed, catching one last chaste kiss before all the drowsiness pulled him down. He managed to crack open an eye and smile at Hanzo, reaching up to trace the blood stains he left in his beard and hair.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess, Han.”

Hanzo glanced down to Jesse’s hand, eyebrows raised at the drying carnage all over it and him. “It’s no matter. Red suits me, don’t you think?”

“Nah, darlin’.” He closed his eyes, resting back against the wall and letting his hand drop to Hanzo’s shoulder. The warmth of the biotic emitter engulfed his mind, lulling him away from the world and past memories of their time together. 

“Blue’s yer colour.”

 

**0XX0**

 

The world came back to Jesse in pieces, barely registering as anything but a warmth beside him. By the time he could open his eyes without protest, the sun was high and shining through the windows, lighting the dingy bathroom in every disgusting detail he hadn’t caught before. He could even smell the dust floating around, settling on newly disturbed surfaces. It all dried out his mouth, if such a thing were possible.

Jesse licked his lips and swallowed, wincing at the sharp dryness of his throat. His cleared it and stretched his legs, relishing the pleasant cracking of middle-aged bones.

The warm lump beside him did not agree.

Jesse froze and glanced down, memories rushing back to him all at once. Hanzo was nestled against his left side, curled up in human form with his head resting against his bared chest, legs tangled up and arms tightly wrapped around his torso. A protective shield, almost.

Without the filter of pain to narrow his priorities, Jesse could finally take in all of Hanzo’s own details. His white hair, loosely tied up and sorely in need of a comb, framed a face softened by deep sleep. Dark bags were settled under his eyes and the blood had been mostly scrubbed off his skin, yet did nothing to ruin the quiet snoring rumbling through him. His clothes, once clean and orderly, were disheveled and stained after however long he’d spent running to south Puebla to dig his hands into the bloody ditch that was his abdomen. It was the same disguise he’d worn to Poland, all those months ago.

(How far they’d come in such little time.)

The biotic emitter was gone, leaving only an itching scar and tightly wrapped bandages over it. A bag of supplies sat on his other side, wide open with its contents all over the place without any rhyme or reason to it. The rest of the house, on the other hand, was quiet with only the wind creaking the floorboards and the sounds of civilisation staying far away from their bubble. They were safe, they were alone.

Perfect. 

A flash of white dragged Jesse away from Hanzo’s face to the doorway. Iwanko stared back at him, impassive as ever, and surely judging him if the raised brow was anything to go by. (How did he manage to look so much like Hanzo there?)

_ How do you feel? _ He asked with a tilt of his head.

“Better,” is what Jesse wanted to say but it came out as a wheeze and a weak cough. He groaned and brought his hand to his face, rubbing into his eyes in some attempt to regain feeling through the pins and needles in his palm. He glanced to Hanzo - still asleep - and went back to Iwanko to give him a thumbs up.

The spirit trotted over and poked his snout into the supply bag, snooping around until he pulled out a bottle of water and dropped it within reach.

_ Tread carefully, cub, _ Iwanko nudged the bottle into Jesse’s open hand and kept it still as he unscrewed the cap.  _ This is new for all of us. Master may not be as ready as you are. _

Jesse took a sip and washed out his mouth, watching Iwanko closely with a furrowed brow. Of all things he expected to hear from this wolf, the ‘What Are Your Intentions With My Daughter’ speech had never been one of them. He swallowed and rubbed his mouth, words rolling over in his mind.

“What’d ya mean?”

Iwanko shifted on his paws, sitting up to stare down his nose at Jesse. That was more like him, slipping into his regal persona.

_ Things have changed between you two, so you must think carefully of what’s to come out of this, _ Iwanko blinked slowly and Jesse stared without hesitation.  _ You made excuses, no? _

“We were—!” He stopped himself before a full blown shout got out, quickly glancing to Hanzo again. Not stirring, good. 

Jesse cleared his throat again in lieu of something to do and whispered. “We were bein’ smart. We agreed on that.”

_ And? _

“An’ what? That was it.”

_ Will that still be able to hold you back from what you want, cub? After last night? _ The spirit narrowed his golden eyes, judgment running strong as ever in his minute expression, or at least something very close to it. Another layer of mystery Jesse both loved and hated.

“I honestly don’t know, an’ that’s somethin’ for me to discuss with Hanzo, not you.” He said curtly, turning his head away to stare at the cobwebbed ceiling. Iwanko’s ethereal glow lingered at the edge of his vision, and he was sure he was getting more of that signature glare.

_ If you insist, _ and his presence was gone.

Jesse let out a sigh and resisted the urge to scratch at his eyes. As if Iwanko knew anything about what  _ he  _ wanted. Sure, his initial crush had gotten out of hand quickly and he’d broken his promise not to get too attached, but the relationship the spirit implied had never been more of a thought about another life that wasn’t here for them to enjoy. They knew the dangers of their lines of work, and Jesse had never been looking for a romantic relationship; fantasies of Hanzo having his way with him along with musings of his taste and scent came and went late in the night, dreams born from a physical need he’d been denied for years.

Maybe they could have indulged in those dreams, once or twice, but Jesse held the suspicion that deep down, they both knew sex would have only complicated their feelings. The hard-earned trust between them built an emotional foundation that muddied their mutual attraction beyond anything merely carnal; sleeping together would have solved nothing but a need that would’ve quickly grown into something else entirely.

And yet… 

God, they really needed to actually talk, out loud and all. No more silent understandings;  **_Talk_ ** .

Hanzo adjusted himself and tightened his grip. Jesse went to hold his shoulder when he remembered that his prosthetic had been removed and his stump lay useless under the archer’s impressive muscle bulk. He settled to rest his cheek against Hanzo’s head, happy to remain in the moment for as long as he could.

(This was harmless, it was all harmless.)

“You’re thinking too hard.”

Jesse held back a growl; no, not yet. He watched Hanzo’s hand roam over his chest, fingers caught in the coarse hair. His movement was slow and deliberate, and he made no move to get away from Jesse yet.

“Go back t’ sleep, darlin’.” He murmured against Hanzo’s hair, closing his eyes in refusal to pull away from the peace quickly slipping away. His deepest, most primal parts were terrified of letting go of this homely position and going back to what they knew.

They told themselves that it wasn’t realistic for them. This life wasn’t theirs. And here they were, living it.

Maybe… 

“I’ve been awake since Iwanko came in.” Hanzo sighed, turning his head to look Jesse in the eye. Sleep was far from him and his eyes were that gorgeous brown without a hint of amber to be found. Good; they had the privacy they needed.

Jesse pulled back to take a good look at Hanzo, appreciating his features, old and newly discovered. Last night, all he’d wanted was to have Hanzo against his lips for the rest of his days, and this morning he wanted a life with nothing but this closeness. They were brief wishes, fanciful thoughts like all the others.

Long-term, Jesse had no idea what the hell he really wanted. He’d never imagined he’d even have a future to think about with anyone, much less someone he liked as much as Hanzo.

(This was getting dangerous.

Oh hell, he’d passed the point of no return a long time ago. That was the truth.)

“How do you feel?” Hanzo asked, jerking Jesse out of another thought spiral. He lifted his head up, leaving Jesse’s shoulder and stump in a pit of pins and needles.

“I ain’t dyin’ no more, so that’s gotta be good.” He chuckled, opting to ignore the unimpressed glare master and spirit shared.

“Yes, it is.” Hanzo sat up, leaning against the wall to let Jesse roll his stiff shoulder, and crossed his arms. “Going after that rogue without backup was an awful idea, Jesse.”

“Yeah, hindsight’s a mighty powerful thing. You wanna do the ‘I told ya so’ dance too?”

“I told you to be careful and instead you got yourself shot.” Hanzo sighed, closing his eyes. The snarl and bite from last night was gone, replaced by a melancholy Jesse was used to seeing on him. It fit him too well. He didn’t like it.

“Yeah, holdin’ onto hope can get pretty risky, but sometimes it’s worth it.” He smirked and winked at Hanzo. He got another glare for his efforts.

“It’s not worth losing you.” Hanzo said gravely before turning away. Jesse blinked. “Do you remember what I told you last night, that I had no desire to be part of a world without you? One day you’ll be injured and I won’t be close enough to come save you.”

Jesse shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve been in this line of work - alone - for a long time. I can take care of myself, darlin’.”

“I  _ know  _ you can. You’re the most capable person I know,” Hanzo looked him up and down, gaze idling on the bandages. “but your enemies are learning your weaknesses. How long until every mob and bounty you chase is carrying silver to deal with you?”

Jesse opened his mouth to retort; he had the Devil’s luck on his side, despite recent events. He had trained for damn near his entire life for this work. He was the best at what he did, even if it wasn’t very nice.

But none of that came out.

Dammit.

“You’re right, sorry.” He conceded, sighing out of his nose. He hated to admit it, but if Deadlock was learning how to take him out permanently, then it meant others on his tail would learn soon enough. If he was to be successful in dispensing justice, then he had to adapt too. “I gotta chase leads first, find out how the hell they knew ‘bout me.”

“Jesse.”

He turned to look at Hanzo again, his expression unreadable except for the pleading tilt of his eyebrows. It wasn’t anger, sadness or even disappointment. He couldn’t quite place it, so instead it became part of the challenge he’d set himself months ago. Jesse set his jaw, biting down on his cheek and nodded to him.

“Take caution next time. I don’t want promises that you won’t get hurt again, that simply isn’t realistic for men like us.” Hanzo looked him in the eye, pinning him down. “You’re a better man than whatever happened in Dorado. Dying from a dart would hardly suit you.”

Jesse snorted and rubbed his cold nose, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He was right on that one too; Jesse The Badass Motherfucker McCree would go out in a blaze of glory if he had his way.

“I have no plans t’ go anywhere b’fore my work is done, an’ I still got a long way to go, darlin’.”

“That I’m glad to hear.” A small smile grew on Hanzo’s face and Jesse marveled at it, his own smile turning crooked at the thought of being the cause of more.

God, he was in deep shit.

“I need to apologise to you as well,” Hanzo started, pushing himself up to kneel over Jesse with a grunt against old bones. “You are not an idiot, far from it in fact.”

Jesse smacked his lips, scratching at his chest. “Thanks, but you were rightly pissed at me, Han. I got no hard feelin’s about it.”

“Still—”

“You apologised, I accept it.” He reached out to grip Hanzo’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “Water under the bridge from now on.”

Hanzo watched their hands, hesitating a long moment before covering Jesse’s hand with his free one, tattoo glowing dimly once more. He squeezed it tightly and then disconnected them, but didn’t move away from his side.

They still had much to discuss, so much to go over and clear up. How the hell could he start this when his gut was starting to twist with anxiety?

_ ‘Better now or never, I ‘spose.’ _

“Speaking of last night, though…” Jesse said, gaze flashing around the bathroom to avoid Hanzo’s raised eyebrow. He could already feel himself heating up from the anticipation alone. “You’re a damn good kisser, y’know that?”

Could’ve gone better.

Oh well.

“Is that so?” Hanzo asked, tilting his head with a mix of smugness and curiosity that Jesse knew meant he was pleased.

“Hell yeah,” Jesse shot him a quick smirk and checked his nails. “Brings t’ mind a lotta questions though, darlin’.”

Hanzo hummed and stood up out of Jesse’s view, then stepped over his legs to pick up the supply bag. Jesse watched him, taking note of the blood stains over his pants that he obviously hadn’t been able to clean off. Just how much blood had he lost? It’d only been a Class 2 hemorrhage (from a dart no less) by his last calculations, yet he was seeing more and more of his blood around him.

He sat up some more, edging away from the dried up puddles beneath him.

“It’s not a conversation to have in a place like this.” Hanzo held out his hand to Jesse and he took it, holding tight as he was pulled up onto his unsteady feet.

“Lead the way, darlin’.”

 

**0XX0**

 

Thankfully for Jesse, Hanzo had brought a change of clothes and some roadside food for him to replenish himself. He was left alone to switch into the clean outfit with Hachiko keeping close watch over him (not that he needed guarding, but she’d worried for him all night and needed to know he’d be alright.

Jesse wondered if she got that from Hanzo.).

He put his prosthetic back on and maneuvered around his bandages, slipping into the too-short jeans and zipping up the sacramento flannel hoodie over his bare chest after the offered shirt proved too tight over his injury. His good ol’ country boots, with a bit of elbow grease and spitshine, were good as new and able to cover up the unfashionable mishaps on Hanzo’s part. It wasn’t his best look, but it suited him fine and being dressed by his friend wasn’t the worst he’d been subjected to (oh boy, teenagers).

With that done, he picked up his soiled clothes and took a long swig from the water bottle, washing out the soreness and hopefully the inevitable morning breath too. Hachiko paced around the other side of the room, ears flat against her head and tail hanging low. Jesse sighed softly and walked over to her.

“Hey, Hachi; what’cha think?” He asked, spreading his arms out. She perked up and gave him a once over before bounding up to stand on her hind legs, face to face with him.

_ You’re alive, that’s more important _ , Hachiko whined and pressed her nose against his.

“McCree don’t go down that easy, Hachi.” Jesse chuckled, running his hands through her ghostly fur and scratching behind her ears. She leant into his touch and wagged her tail before burying her head into his neck and almost knocking him over (he’d forgotten how big these wolves really were).

_ We thought we wouldn’t find you, or that you were dead _ — He cut her off with a tight hug, rubbing her neck as best as he could with her current form.

“Yeah, an’ now I’m alive ‘cause of you guys” Jesse murmured into her ear. “I really gotta get ‘round to savin’ y’all for once, it’s startin’ to get unfair how much you’ve saved my ass.”

He pulled her away and scratched her forehead, still smiling as warmly as he could muster. She bumped his head and went back down to four legs, staring up at him with big, familiar golden eyes.

_ Maybe one day, _ she said, giving him a look he’d seen too many times on a younger Fareeha. The kind of playful doubt one showed when they wanted to tease you for thinking too highly of yourself. He’d grown used to it years ago.

“Damn right.” He laughed, ruffling her fur again and walking out of the room to the main part of the house. In the daylight, he could see what a dump thirty years of isolation and disrepair had turned it into. Jesse huffed and put his focus elsewhere; the dust would only put his sesnse on edge.

Iwanko sat by the broken front door, watching them as they walked over. Jesse raised an eyebrow at him, daring the wolf to lecture him again, assume he knew more than what was truth.

Iwanko stood up and nudged his muzzle against Jesse’s hand, moving over to Hachiko before he had a chance to react. The wolves shared silent words, looking back at Jesse, and then walked away, leaving him alone by the door. He wasn’t sure if it he should’ve felt anxious or glad for the vacancy, but he didn’t have the time to ponder. He had a goal.

Jesse breathed in deeply, taking no note of the stale musk coming off the walls, and went through the door.

The sun was bright as ever against the near-cloudless blue sky, showing off the expanse of hills and country for miles around. Even with winter marching closer every day, the greenery was neverending, giving life to such an empty view. No wonder rich folks wanted to vacation here a lifetime ago.

Hanzo was sat on a boulder, back turned to the house, while a small fire burnt a few feet away. His stetson was next to the pelt, perched on another rock, loyally watching their surroundings. Jesse could’ve sworn he saw its eyes glint as he walked up to the fire and dropped his clothes next to it. He looked back to Hanzo, taking him in.

He’d changed as well, though not as drastically. The old gilet was replaced with a hickory brown hooded jacket (faux leather by the smell of it), the ruined pants with a pair of khaki cargos, and the gloves with his archer’s glove on the wrong hand. His trusty tall hiking boots were the only unchanged item, now without a drop on them. Jesse smiled; great minds think alike.

Hanzo didn’t look up from poking the fire as Jesse sat next to him on the rock, nor did he move when he scooched closer to knock shoulders. Content to watch the fire, Jesse stuck to Hanzo without a care that he had the most dopey look on his face. He wasn’t going to let go of his happy moment just yet.

He didn’t notice Hanzo had intertwined their fingers until he tried to pull away for a smoke. Hanzo squeezed his hand, the corners of his mouth twitching up in the slightest smile.

“You wished to talk?”

Jesse’s smile grew and he laughed softly, leaning in close. “There’s a lotta things I wanna do.”

He closed his eyes, pulling Hanzo closer by their hands and bent down to meet his lips— 

Another hand went over his mouth and he blinked in surprise. Hanzo was smirking up at him like the cat who caught the mouse. Well played, sir.

“Jesse McCree, you’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?” He practically purred. Jesse just furrowed his brow at him, though his pride wasn’t  _ that  _ wounded. He liked smart men; he  _ liked  _ Hanzo.

“Thought I’d be selfish for a lil’ bit first, no seducing necessary.” He pulled back from the hand, smooth as ever. Hanzo, amused, let go of his hand and crossed his arms, facing the fire again but eyes never leaving Jesse.

“If you’re going to ask why I kissed you, I already explained: I wanted to. It didn’t mean anything more than what you already know.” He said, voice steady and unfaltering. It was forced, Jesse could tell that much. The why eluded him.

“I got that, darlin’, but I jus’ wanna know something.” He sat up, shoulders squared. Hanzo watched him from the corner of his eye before nodding. “Why now? We agreed a relationship wasn’ realistic for us—”

“Technically, we never said anything,” Hanzo muttered, looking away as his face flushed. “We mutually assumed and went with it.”

Jesse glanced over him, his hunching shoulders and tightening grip on his biceps. For a man who hid so well in an assassin’s shadow, Hanzo could say a lot without meaning to. His guard was low, something neither were used to. Jesse wasn’t going to waste this show of friendship.

“Hanzo, what do ya want?”

Hanzo turned to him fully, eyes wide and red deepening at the callout. Jesse waited, watching for any sign of a mistake. Hanzo then narrowed his gaze, carefully regarding him.

“What do  _ you  _ want?”

“I asked first, darlin’.”

Hanzo glared, frowning as if Jesse had just insulted his mother. Jesse met his glare head on, raising an eyebrow as he did with Iwanko. Like spirit like master, Hanzo softened and unfurled his arms to rest them on his lap. But he said nothing, so Jesse rolled his eyes and relented.

“Last night… This has made me realise that you do so much fer me, not just savin’ my ass when I’m in trouble but with all sorts of stuff!” He budged back to spread his arms out, motioning. “You’ve done for me what no one else has, Han. What no one else  _ can _ , like teachin’ me to control the wolf, or even jus’ remindin’ me that I ain’t alone in this goddamn world.”

He took a breath and stood up, running a hand through his hair as he paced by the fire.

“Do you have any idea how much that meant t’ me? Knowin’ that there’s someone out there like me, it damn near changed my life. Bleedin’ out in the middle of Mexico, I thought for the first time in decades ‘I don’t wanna die’. You did that, Hanzo. You…”

He stopped in his tracks, facing Hanzo and breathing hard. Hanzo’s eyes were wide again, but still silent.

“You did. I wanna give that back, even jus’ a lil so you know how much it means. Do for you what you’ve done for me, darlin’.”

Hanzo exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping as his expression morphed into one of affection. Jesse felt the flush all the way up his neck.

“Jesse, you’ve already done more for me than you can imagine.” He admitted, tone just the same as his look. Jesse couldn’t help but stare. “I don’t need any more from you.”

“Need is one thing, want is another.” Jesse walked back over, standing over Hanzo before dropping to his knees in front of him. “If stayin’ friends is what you  _ want _ , that’s fine, but I think we can do more for each other if we… if we’re more.”

“It’s not safe, or smart.” Hanzo said quietly, curling his hands into fists. Jesse took hold of them, sitting up.

“An’ you said I was the paranoid one.”

“You were paranoid about being a werewolf,” Hanzo rolled his eyes, staring down at their hands. “This is…I don’t know what I want. Not yet.”

“Then I’ll wait, sweetheart. ‘Til you do.” Jesse smiled and squeezed his hands. Hanzo’s cheek dimpled and he felt him relax slightly. “We put all these rules on ourselves, sayin’ we were responsible ‘n’ cautious, but imagine what we could do without all them limits. I wanna do that for you, with ya.”

Hanzo smiled back at him then, and took his hand out to cup Jesse’s face, fingers tangling in his untrimmed beard. The sun shined behind him, turning his white hair a heavenly gold and shadowing them from the rest of the world and its harsh realities, where the names McCree and Shimada meant only murder and bounties. Here and now, it was just two men longing for something new.

“Thank you, for understanding,” Hanzo hummed, low enough for only Jesse to hear. He stroked his cheek, scraping his nails against his beard in the way Jesse went limp against. “You are a remarkable man.”

“Aw, shucks.” Jesse chuckled, rolling his eyes to avoid that warm shine in Hanzo’s eyes. “You’re a charmer, Shimada Hanzo.”

Hanzo leant down and kissed him again, and Jesse held onto him as he eagerly kissed back. Hanzo ran his other hand through Jesse’s hair, deepening the kiss and pressing his tongue against his lips. Jesse parted them and moaned as Hanzo took over, flooding him with his scent, his taste, everything that stirred desire deep in his gut.

They pulled away too soon, just enough to breath again and Jesse smiled widely. Hanzo returned it and stroked through his beard once more. 

“I thought I’d be selfish, for a moment.” 

Jesse shook his head and laughed, resting his forehead against Hanzo’s knee as the familiar warmth filled him. “That’s fine by me, darlin’. Jus’ fine.”

 

**0XX0**

 

_ -Mamihlapinatapai- _

_ That look across the table when two people are sharing an unspoken but private moment. When each knows the other understands and is in agreement with what is being expressed. An expressive and meaningful silence. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you believe I had a totally different outline for this chapter that included zero smooching?? Yeah me neither, but I decided that this route allowed for more meaningful conversations and prose in the long run. We'll be taking a couple breather chapters and then it's action followed by a meaningful guest appearance by a certain someone from chapter 3~
> 
> Keep the comments, kudos and bookmarks coming! They empower me to keep on writing for you all
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	12. A Fool For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *says updates will be slow* *uploads new chapter less than a month later* I lied, updates will be slow from NOW on. I've got a fanzine to draw for and put together, it's taking over my life and I love it.
> 
> Thanks again to Autocon21 for being the best beta and typing up the last scene here when my wifi failed me. And special thanks to my friend Seeker, the Pan every Ace writer needs to teach them how to write sexual tension and arousal. You two saved my life this month.
> 
> And I've changed up the fic summary to better suit the story since the original one was written back when this was supposed to be a series of one shots lol Hope y'all like it and this chapter! *Finger guns away*

In the aftermath of saving Jesse’s life, kissing him and hearing out his declaration, Hanzo found time to finally think and had to deal with the assault of screams from two ethereal, wise wolf spirits for over an hour.

_ You couldn’t give us a warning?! _ Iwanko paced around their shared headspace, a multitude of emotions pulsing off every angle. _ I was using your eyes, I had to watch you two mash your food holes together! _

_ And I had to use your hands for you!  _ Hachiko whined, cycling her brother’s mixed feelings further.  _ You mustn’t lose yourself around Jesse, Master! At the very least, give us ample warning so we can try to leave you two to your intimate business. _

_ Don’t encourage him, sister! _

_ Oh, hush you. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. _

Hanzo couldn’t help the smirk sneaking onto his face and tried to hide it behind his hand, twirling the end of his moustache. Hachiko followed her brother around, now flowing with a calm aura that turned Hanzo’s limbs heavy as he sat back in his makeshift seat listening to the spirits bicker and scold him in-between. Not that he minded at all, he was still basking in the afterglow of spending the previous evening kissing Jesse senseless out of relief until sleep pulled them into a mutual promise to hold back on their desires for the meantime.

That agreement became harder to stand by when Hanzo remembered Jesse’s taste, his fingers tangled in his hair, and his bruised full lips between his. The spiced smoke alone was enough to get him addicted to Jesse’s scent, and knowing how his tongue felt against his own brought truth to the daydreams and wondering fantasies focused on the gunslinger’s willing touch.

With great concentration, Hanzo blanked out Iwanko and Hachiko to look over at Jesse across the dwindling campfire. He was focused on checking his wound and changing the bandages, too much to pay attention to Hanzo’s stare or warm look. At least the wound had stopped bleeding in the night and no infection had taken hold, so all that was left was to wait for the silver to leave his system to allow for a full internal recovery. Hopefully it would be before the full moon took effect on Jesse; shifting with silver in his blood would only reverse months of training and could potentially damage him for good. Hanzo refused to let that happen.

He let out a hefty sigh and retreated into the headspace again, closing Jesse out of his sight. The less distractions, the better.

_ You don’t know that, _ Hachiko sat opposite Iwanko, the pacing settled for now. _ If the Okami truly wanted that, it would have stripped Master of everything, or made us it's mortal agents permanently.  _

A shudder crawled up Hanzo’s spine at the words, reverberating through his companions. It was bad enough what the Okami did that night against the elders and every year since, he didn’t need the  torturous alternative in his head.

_ The Okami wouldn’t be so forward in our punishment _ , Iwanko argued, shifting and filling up more space than needed.  _ Once you have crossed them, you will be reminded of your grievances for life. _

Hanzo rubbed at his temple and grunted.  _ ‘What have you moved onto?’ _

_ Master! _

_ You can weigh in on the matter,  _ Iwanko said smugly.

_ Or at least put an end to this,  _ Hachiko huffed at her brother, glaring.

_ ‘Answer the question.’ _ He ordered, kneading his fingers against his forehead. It did little to banish the ache.

_ We were discussing the ramifications of you and Jesse entering an intimate relationship, _ Iwanko explained, head held high as he took his rightful place as ‘the one who’s always right’. 

Hanzo’s eyebrow quirked up.  _ ‘You were so open to him yesterday.’ _

Iwanko growled at the callout and shifted on his paws again until his sister brushed up against him. He relented and whined, pressing against the headache to sooth it.

_ I still am. Jesse is not wrong; a support without limits would help you and us, _ Iwanko paused, working through his quiet words enough for Hanzo to feel it. _ But if the Okami meant for you to suffer, it would not allow this, for us to be…compromised. In some way, it will crash and burn. _

Iwanko had a point. Hanzo’s punishment was for him to never forget the pain of that night, of what he inflicted on his pack and spirit companions. If he and Jesse were to broaden their relationship, would the Okami allow for such a respite? Would it allow him to push away the dark thoughts, even for a moment, and drown himself in the affection Jesse so freely offered him?

He didn’t know, and that terrified him.

_ I do not agree, but if it were true then Jesse would be hurt because of us, _ Hachiko conceded, looking away. Melancholy rolled off them in waves, repeating the cycle until Hanzo frowned and scratched at his collapsing chest. Since when had the thought of a hurt cowboy distressed him so?

(Since the first night they met, he admitted.

Ghosts and mistakes plagued him beyond words of forgiveness.)

Movement against the embers jostled Hanzo’s attention back to Jesse, now standing and buttoning up his flannel. The curve of his brow was contemplative and his lips were set in a line, neither scowling nor smiling. The expression fitted him like a well-worn glove; part of Hanzo wondered if it was the face of an experienced agent ready to face Hell.

Their eyes met and Jesse melted into a small, crooked smile which Hanzo returned, relishing the warmth that eased his chest. Iwanko and Hachiko groaned at the back of his mind, and he ignored them again to instead stand to meet Jesse as he sauntered over.

“Someone keepin’ ya busy up there?”  Jesse asked, poking Hanzo’s forehead. He scoffed and tutted his hand away.

“Two someones were not pleased about my not warning them about the turn of events.” 

Jesse laughed and shook his head, hands on hips. “Well, they’re alone on that. I’m  _ very  _ pleased ‘bout it.”

“I know you are.” Hanzo rolled his eyes but it did nothing to damper his smile. “I have no regrets.”

“Smartass.” Jesse smacked his shoulder and pulled his hat to shadow his grin, then walked past towards the old house. “I’m gonna go check we ain’t left nothin’, then we can head off, darlin’.”

The wistful tone of his words sparked a familiar ache in Hanzo, the same he felt at the cabin when Jesse was leaving for Tarifa: not yet. They hadn’t been apart that long, and should have not seen each other again for much longer, but with recent events still too close for comfort, Hanzo was loathe to let Jesse out of his protection. What if the silver was still in him by the full moon? He would need help, wouldn’t he?

But no. That would be selfish, cruel even. His feelings for the man may run deep, but Jesse was not for him to keep. It was a fact of their lives that their paths would diverge and take them to opposite ends of the Earth for months at a time, unable to meet like this no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise. He wouldn’t stumble Jesse in his quest to dispense justice.

Still, he didn’t want to waste this precious time at his side, so Hanzo went after him at a quickened pace. “I’ll help you.”

_ ‘We’ll continue this talk later.’  _ Iwanko and Hachiko hummed their agreement and stayed quiet as Hanzo caught up to the cowboy, who stepped aside in a deep bow and a crinkle in his eyes that gave away the private smile for him.

“Age b’fore beauty, Han.” 

Hanzo narrowed his eyes and marched into the house. “Pearls before the swine, Jesse.”

The offended gasp and wicked chuckle behind him filled him with a type of fervor he couldn’t name. Not an urgent matter; he would  figure it out later. Now was his time with Jesse and he wouldn’t put it to poor use.

 

**0XX0**

 

“Where’s the next stop, darlin’?”

Hanzo looked up from the floor (not a trace of blood left, even in the tile cracks - a testament to their combined efforts despite the lack of necessary tools) and raised an eyebrow at Jesse, not moving from his kneeling position and allowing the cowboy to tower over him as he leant against the peeling wall. His lips were pulled up, not quite a smile but close enough for Hanzo to know he was at ease.

“Why?” He asked in reply, furrowing in curiosity.

“Figured I oughta know where we’re goin’, don’tcha think?”

“ _ ‘We’ _ ?” Hanzo repeated, lips parted as he tried to read further into the expression. What the hell was McCree talking about, they couldn’t— 

“I ain’t gonna leave ya that easily after these past couple days, Han.” Jesse chuckled, crossing his arms. He gripped his biceps tightly, his gaze drifted away from Hanzo’s after only a few seconds, and he tapped his heel against the tile absentmindedly without a pattern. 

Hanzo smirked, coy as the truth unraveled before him. This was more than mere loneliness or the heat of attraction pushing him to follow his fellow wolf wherever he led. Even more than their grown friendship wanting for attention.

“Of course,” he said as he stood to full height and tipped Jesse’s chin up with a knuckle. Their eyes met again and Jesse opened, more vulnerable than Hanzo had ever seen before. It made sense; he’d never been around with Jesse at Death’s door before. 

His smile sobered as he cupped Jesse’s jaw, savouring the rough stubble blending into his beard. “I wouldn’t think to not take you with me.”

Not now, not after seeing the raw fear that comes from peering into the void of non-existence. Death was final and terrifying that way, even for men like them. If Hanzo had doubted Jesse’s claims the night before, they were gone now with one glance that proved everything. If Jesse wanted it, Hanzo would keep him at his side for as long as he could; it was easy to give what Jesse wanted, and he would.

(But that wasn’t the question holding him back, was it?)

Jesse smiled his thanks and Hanzo returned it before stepping back, breathing deeply. There was no point in making this arrangement harder for them both by ignoring boundaries. He was better than that.

“I am still running from pursuers, and while this detour certainly confused them, they will find me if I don’t get lost in South America soon.” Hanzo explained, fiddling with his moustache again to stroke down his beard to its point. He looked Jesse over again and dipped into a lighter tone. “I was thinking of exploring the mountains of Peru for the rest of the year, go where humans cannot follow.”

Jesse let go of his arms, shoulders sagging, and hooked his thumbs through his belt hoops with a wider smile. The golden tint of his eyes hinted at the heightened spirit he knew Jesse to be overflowing with on some days. It suited him far better.

“That so? Ain’t ever been down that way, I’ll admit.” His fingers clenched at nothing and his prosthetic index twitched toward his belt pouch, itching for a smoke. Jesse had lost his pack during the fight against Deadlock and Hanzo had been unable to pick up anything better than a few cheap cigarettes from a bus station, all of which had been lit through the night in an effort to sleep. “Think we’ll get in trouble for huntin’ llamas? Always wanted t’ try some.”

“I want to say ‘no’, but you have a talent for getting into trouble for anything.” Hanzo teased, making a mental note to buy a cigarillo pack in Guatemala. Only enough to stave off the withdrawal symptoms through the full moon; he loathed to think of how aggressive the symptoms would be for a werewolf under that influence.

“Ya got me there.” Jesse laughed and shoved his hands into his pockets, rolling back on his heels. “I’m good t’ head off whenever you are, sweetheart. You say the word.”

“Don’t you have supplies to get back from Dorado?” Hanzo asked, tilting his head. Jesse shrugged and hummed.

“I didn’t take anythin’ but Peacekeeper an’ ammo to the ambush, left everything important in a safe house by El Paso so I can grab it whenever I’m up north again.” At least he wasn’t completely without, that was a relief.

“We can take some time to go there and be back in the valleys by the full moon…” Hanzo trailed off as Jesse shook his head, looking down at his boots. “What is it?”

“I wasn’ plannin’ on going back up anytime soon, actually.” He rolled his shoulders slowly, cracking his joints and back. “Deadlock shot me with silver t’ kill me off. They ain’t gonna find a body but they got no reason to think I called in a friend so they’ll write me off as dead, celebrate, then get their asses handed to them when I go ‘Surprise, bitch!’ on ‘em.”

Hanzo paused in his beard stroking and watched Jesse, lips quirking up to a wide smile. Of  _ course _ . He’d pulled off a similar move when the remaining Shimada-Gumi thought it wise to declare him dead to avoid the controversy of hunting him down; it allowed their enemies and allies alike to lower their guard as he eliminated them in his rage-filled early years as a lone assassin, and it gave him the freedom to hide his shame behind a persona no one could link to a deceased yakuza prince.

Jesse wouldn’t stay dead, of course, but a few weeks off the radar would be enough to convince one gang of the lie so that the comeback would knock them down harder than anything else the gunslinger could’ve come up with. There were going to be losses, as always, but Jesse wasn’t the type of man to let that slow him down; he’d pick himself up and start from scratch. But still: a classic strategy with an equally iconic McCree spin on it.

“Ah, an ulterior motive.” Jesse’s head snapped up, eyes wide and mouth open to retort, but he stopped himself when he saw the pleased curve of his lip. Hanzo straightened his back and took a step forward. “It’s a good plan, I like it.”

He moved in closer, chest to chest, felt the way his breath hitched and how his face heated up at the close contact. He curled his lips into something teasing and batted his eyelashes, something old and familiar for them.

“And I like a Jesse McCree who  _ thinks _ .” 

Hanzo pulled back in time to avoid the prosthetic facepalm and kept smirking as Jesse tried to bury his face into his hand, skin burning red all the way down his neck. He shook his head and pouted down at Hanzo, peeking through his fingers.

“Yer never gonna let me forget that, are ya?”

“Lest history repeat itself.” At Death’s door or not, Hanzo wasn’t going to let him easily forget the mistakes that got him in this situation. Not that he didn’t trust him not to keep his word, but rather to remind him who would get hurt by such actions.

Jesse groaned and rubbed both hands down his face before giving Hanzo a dirty look. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms, apparently opting to ignore how flushed he was in some attempt to look composed. It was charming enough that Hanzo bit down on his laugh and instead watched the cowboy through half-hooded lids.

“You’re lucky I like ya, Hanzo.” Jesse grumbled, still pouting and trying his best to hide it behind a half-hearted glare.

“I am.” Hanzo agreed. He reached out and held Jesse’s flesh hand, squeezing it tightly and then walked past him without looking back. He could hear hushed Spanish curses as he left the room and he allowed himself a low chuckle under his breath.

_ Smooooth, _ Iwanko whistled.

_ And cruel. So cruel, Master, _ Hachiko shook her head and swatted her tail, giving them both an unimpressed stare. Hanzo took it in stride and held his head high, even as a heated gaze fell onto his back. Even if he was figuring himself out, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with Jesse, and he fully intended to make the most out of their journey.

 

**0XX0**

 

With only their weapons and a few possessions holding them down, the hike down to the Guatemalan border went quickly and smoothly, with their stops for food and extra clothes barely slowing them down. Jesse seemed surprised at Hanzo’s ability to pay for everything without second thought and he let it slip that he had an overseas account from his teenage years (the need to hold something secret from his family had been far stronger then, fake name and all) that paid for his current lifestyle. He never flaunted it nor took out more than a few thousand Yen each month: it had to last him however long he had yet to live and using it for a more lavish environment wouldn’t help him any, especially now that his income was practically non-existent. 

(It was for the greater good, his  _ honour _ . Starving again wouldn’t do anything for him or his pack.)

“An’ you never paid for food or motel rooms before!” Jesse laughed loud, slapping him on the back in the comfort of properly fitted pants. “Ya owe me dinner, Han.”

“That sounds like a date. Are you setting me up?” Hanzo teased back, nudging him with his elbow.

“Aw, shit. Ya caught me.” Jesse swatted his arm away. “I was gonna seduce ya with my wiles ‘n’ country tunes under the candlelight.”

“You don’t need any of that, Jesse.”

That set the tone for the next week in the wilderness as the full moon neared. There was no way to tell how much jesse had healed without the hours of rest he needed, and Hanzo was hesitant to have him shift early to determine the pain. With the little medical supplies they had on them and none of it useful for a silver-poisoned werewolf, he’d be left in the middle of Central America unable to do anything for Jesse.

By the last night of the waning gibbous, Jesse was sweating out of his skin, scratching at his ears every other second and looking ready to bolt at any moment. Hanzo sat cross legged on the dry expanse of grass in front of his pacing, looking up at the clear sky where the moon hung amongst bright stars, all mocking them. He glared back, even as Jesse stood over him.

“Honey, I gotta shift.” He put his hands on his hips, drumming his fingers to his own heartbeat if the speed was anything to go by. “I ain’t been doin’ my lead up prep like  _ you  _ taught me an’ the wolf’s clawin’ its way out early. I’ll lose control all over again…”

“No you won’t.” Hanzo finally looked at him, staring up into those shining ambers. His hair and beard were in total disarray, more so than usual, reflecting the moonlight in a halo betraying the beast waiting to be freed.

“I wanna believe ya, but you don’t have moon urges like I do.” He twitched again and ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it and exhaling the remains of his last cigarillo smoke.

“If there’s  _ any  _ silver—”

“It’s been long enough!” Jesse snapped, turning his furrowed brow and snarling fangs onto the archer. “I feel fine, better than ever actually!”

Hanzo blinked at the spat out words, watching as Jesse panted and recollected himself. Pre-shift irritation was known in newly turned wolves, but under the current circumstances (and lack of nicotine running through him), the mood swing was understandable.

It didn’t mean he had to like or take it.

“Jesse, I cannot be responsible for someone I care about getting hurt. Not again, not like Ge…” His voice withered and he ducked his head into his jacket collar, swallowing past the lump in his throat and pushing back the bloody memories before his spirits cycled them. Not tonight. “Not like Genji.”

Jesse breaths again and stops pacing. Hanzo lifts his head up as he crouches down, quietly whining and bowing his head. His ears would be flattened if he could move them in this form.

“Sorry, Hanzo. Yer tryin’ your best an’ I ‘preciate it, I do.” The nightly shadows hid most of his expression, but the remorse was as clear as day. “I know risks are what got me int’ this mess, but this is a leap of faith you gotta take.”

“It’s better translated as a leap  _ into  _ faith.” He huffed his acceptance and Jesse raised his golden eyes to his, all whines and submission gone.

“You nerd.” He wiped his hand over his face, smiling at a runaway thought. “Put that smart head t’ use an’ tell me what it thinks is likely to happen if I shift tonight.”

Hanzo set his lips in a firm line and sat up, hands curled into fists in his lap. Jesse wasn’t wrong, but he’d been clinging to caution this entire time and feared the consequences if he were to let go for a moment. He wasn’t this sort of person; attachments and feelings were turning him into a damn fool.

_ It’s not that bad, _ Hachiko chuckled.

_ At least you know you’re acting out of line,  _ Iwanko added, rolling his eyes as best as he could in the boundless, shapeless void of his mind. It was an interesting sight, as always.

_ ‘Talk sense into me, please.’  _ He sighed, closing his eyes and holding his chin. Iwanko and Hachiko shared a glance, then moved in closer.

_ It’s been long enough that he’s not suffering from the immediate effects of the silver anymore, _ Hachiko started as she crossed her front paws over each other, tapping her claws.

_ He lost a lot of blood that night and has already seemed to replace it, which would point towards his immune system not being addled by silver, _ Iwanko continued, sitting next to his sister and mirroring her position.

_ ‘But what if there’s still some left? Enough to damage his shift?’ _ Hanzo ran a hand through his hair, digging his nails into his scalp as his other let go of his chin and flexed. Jesse’s flesh hand rested over it, assuring.

_ If there were, his body would be telling him so, _ Iwanko nodded.  _ If he is as fine as he claims, then there’s nothing to fear. _

_ Wolves of his kind are built for survival, his urge to shift would not be so strong if it would incapacitate him. _

_ ‘But—’ _

_ Master,  _ Iwanko sighed, a mix of irritation and sympathy rolling off him that coiled in Hanzo’s stomach.  _ You asked us to help you, so let us.  _

_ You ask us as if we are the authority, _ Hachiko laughed something soft and bumped against Hanzo.  _ We aren’t experts, Master. This is your call. _

They were right, of course. They had never steered him wrong before (that one night, that was  **_him_ ** , he forced them to  _ slaughter their sister— _ ) and now only his own paranoia was holding him back. Jesse had been the one hurt and he was paying for it. He had to trust him, in spite of the fears and worries.

Hanzo opened his eyes and found Jesse still crouched, holding his clutched hand. Concern was etched into every laugh line and crows feet, painting a sight Hanzo had yet to familiarize himself with. It was an alien feeling, to have someone outside of his head worry about him. A part of him wondered how long he had to get used to it, if at all.

Jesse smiled, small and kind, when their eyes met again. Hanzo rested his forehead against him and sighed through his nose, stare piercing through his core.

“I trust you.” He said, loud and clear. Jesse blinked, his smile only wavering to dimple his cheek and brighten his face, more mesmerizing than any sun or moon. 

“You ain’t gonna regret this, darlin’.” He winked and moved to stand, but Hanzo pulled him back by the hand.

“Jesse, one more thing—” The cowboy tilted his head which was far more endearing (and dare he say adorable?) than it had any right to be on a grown man like him. “— there’s no need to be submissive around me; you’re not mine.”

He rapped a knuckle against Jesse’s nose and he scrunched it up, eyes wide and pupils dilated in a not-so-innocent fashion. Then his smile turned into a sharp fanged grin, one far too full of intent to be anything but wicked, and his ambers fully melted into gold.

“ _ Yours _ ? I like the sound of that.” Jesse growled, low on his smokey breath and reverberating all the way through Hanzo’s chest, the pleasant vibrations tightening his gut into a coil that ran deep and made his hairs stand on end. 

He dug his nails into his palms as heat crawled up his neck and he bit on his lip to hold back a grin just as devilish. Another growl rumbled through Jesse, deepened to match the dark hunger in his gaze, before he moved away to strip his arm and shirt. Hanzo tracked him as he walked further out, the warmth lingering but not unwelcome even as he watched the shift, the rippling skin polished and stable as if it were any other full moon. 

In the moment of it all, he almost forgot about his most dutiful audience.

_ That went well,  _ Iwanko hummed as he wagged his tail.

_ His reaction was far better this time, _ Hachiko snickered, trying to hide it in her fur.  _ Though you still need to work on that warning. _

Hanzo groaned and buried his red face into his hands, cursing in Japanese under his breath. So caught up in Jesse and his own desire, he’d blanked out on his two constants long enough to drag them into his sexually emotional mess. There was a reason he asked for privacy during the lonely late nights when he needed the illusion of some carnal normalcy, and now that’d been thrown out the window, exposing them to an experience never meant for their kind. 

How would they even react if his feelings for Jesse were to develop more than they already were? Would they share them like they did everything else? Or would they reject them completely, dampening him as a result and leaving him in a stasis unable to progress in a possible relationship— 

_ Master, you worry too much _ , Hachiko shook her head and hummed a childhood tune, one his mother had sung to calm her sons. Hanzo relaxed and breathed, mind full of melody and nostalgia for years he had scant memories of. 

_ ‘Can you blame me? With our connection, my feelings for Jesse will complicate with yours.’  _ He glanced up at the sky again, unchanged with a whole new layer of ridicule thrown towards him. The moon pulled at his hunger and he glared.

_ So you assume, _ Iwanko scoffed, breaking through the serenity.  _ That end of the emotional spectrum is merely a mortal construction. We spirits are literally beyond its comprehension. _

Hanzo took another breath. The crisp air of the night dried out his throat and did nothing for his scrambled thoughts.

“You’ve never mentioned this.” He whispered, pursing his cracked lips as he gawked at nothing, the hunger far away. 

The humming came to a half and Hachiko grunted at her brother, slapping her tail at him. _ It wasn’t necessary before the…incident. You always asked for privacy in your moments. _

_ And a relationship was never thought to be in the cards afterwards,  _ Iwanko carefully inched away from Hachiko.  _ We should have told you earlier, Master: you have nothing to fear from bedding McCree. We apologise. _

Hanzo swallowed, thoughts falling into a line: The fear was unfounded. His companions were safe from his passion and longing, no matter how deep it ran. Jesse was his and his alone, if he so chose.

(His choice. Why was this still so hard for him?)

‘ _ Thank you.’ _ He sighed and blinked the dryness out of his eyes, surroundings coming into clarity from a new perspective. He would have to meditate on this specific matter when he had a moment or two alone again, for now he saw Jesse - fully formed and watching him from across the field - waiting next to the pile that gave away his human elements. 

His hunger was growing and the moonlight was pulsing in his veins. 

“Let’s go.”

 

**0XX0**

 

By the time they arrived in Peru and the shuttles took them to Tarapoto, the summer had rendered them sluggish and tired as they adjusted to the new humid season. Jesse complained loudly amongst the crowd, like any other unprepared tourist and serving to get everyone around to ignore them, while Hanzo wallowed silently in the unpredicted heatwave. He was half-tempted to head back to Iquitos and hide out in the rainforest, but Jesse pulled him back, smothering his concerns with honeyed words about Celendín; if they got to the town, the drier mountains beyond would give them release; they could head south to the Huascarán park, spend as many days as they wanted alone in whatever form they wished.

It was their time to spend as they chose.

Hanzo relented, too exhausted to argue and pining for release from the muggy air drowning him, and resigned himself to organising their luggage once more. If he could fit everything - including their weapons - into a single duffle bag, they could make it through the undeveloped terrain with as few strained muscles as possible. 

Jesse, meanwhile, hid away in their cheap motel bathroom to shave and trim down. He kept the door open, rambling on about crappy air conditioning, how he learnt to shave in Blackwatch, made the horrible choice of keeping a soul patch until his mid-30s, and became the master of hair braiding after years under a young Fareeha’s tutelage. Hanzo smiled along to the stories, paying half a mind to his hands until he almost threw out the last flashbang grenade.

Jesse came out of the bathroom, beard trimmed down to a barely-there goatee and long locks clipped to leave the back of his neck bare. Even with the cut, he was as scruffy as ever and recognisable from a distance. A small part of Hanzo wondered if he could still run his fingers through the chestnut and find it as soft as he knew his fur to be.

“Do you wanna use the razor, Han?” Jesse asked as he looked over their luggage and grabbed a pack of ammunition to shove into his belt pouch.

Hanzo rubbed a hand over his jaw, cringing at the rough stubble and uneven ends of his goatee, and put a pack of ration bars in the empty ammo space. “I should tidy myself up.”

“An’ yer hair?”

“What about it?” Hanzo asked, looking up at Jesse holding the razor and an old pair of shears. He fumbled with his fingers, working his jaw for the right words.

“I was jus’ thinking that with your hair as long as it is, if you get all hot ‘n’ start sweatin’ with the pelt on, it’ll weigh you down more than an extra bag of supplies.” He explained, glancing between Hanzo and the duffle.

Hanzo reached back to his hair, hastily tied in a low bun to keep it off his back. It used to be much shorter, years ago when he had first sliced off the newly winter strands in his disgrace and grief, but had since grown back inch by inch. It was nowhere near the length it was in his youth but certainly enough to drag him down in this humidity, enough to give his enemy an edge if he were ever caught without his pelt.

“I am overdue for a cut.” He replied, pulling out the hair tie and shaking his head so it hung over his shoulder. Jesse watched him, eyes unfocused and a lopsided smile taking over his features. How predictable. “I’m out of practice, would you care to help me?”

Jesse blinked out of his daydream and nodded eagerly, handing him the razor before walking off to the bathroom. “Do ya wanna wash your hair first? Or— wait no, hold ont’ that thought, we ain’t got no shampoo.”

Hanzo chuckled and got up onto his feet, rolling his shoulders and cracking his back. He followed Jesse into the closet-sized bathroom and resisted the urge to hold in his breath. Jesse was scrambling around the medicine cabinet above the sink, pushing back decades old bottles of lotions in a vain effort to find something that wouldn’t melt his hair upon contact. Hanzo bumped his hip and took the razor for himself.

“A rinse will do. Is there a comb at least?” Jesse closed the cabinet and wiped down the fogged mirror with his sleeve. Hanzo leaned in and looked over his jaw before turning on the cold water. It sputtered once and then let out a steady stream.

“Yeah, but it’s shit so I’ll let ya borrow mine.” Jesse moved out, leaving the shears on the sink, and Hanzo wetted his face before starting the shaving. It wasn’t ideal to do this with only a sharp blade but he’d done more with less before, it didn’t worry him. 

Jesse came back shortly after he’d trimmed his beard and moustache down to the edges of his jaw, and hung back in the doorway content to watch as he ran his hair under the faucet for the quickest wash known to man. Once he was done, he rung his head out and Jesse came to stand behind him, warmth radiating onto his back and sending a satisfying shiver through him. 

He handed the comb over and Hanzo tugged at his knots, all too aware of Jesse pressing against him and trying to keep his hands to himself. Hanzo smirked and pushed back, feeling every muscle against his back as he preened shamelessly. Jesse growled in his throat, leaning in to his ear.

“Yer a goddamn tease.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jesse.” He purred back, finding Jesse’s eye in the mirror and giving him the face of pure innocence. Gold flashed back at him and prosthetic fingers dug into his hip as he inhaled deeply.

“You’re a terrible liar, Hanzo.” He rested his head against the crook of his neck, bringing himself flush against the archer. He kept combing, arching himself into the touches as Jesse’s other hand stroked down his thigh.

Hanzo stepped aside into the cold and held the comb up to Jesse’s nose. “Have I missed anything?”

Jesse blinked, staring wide-eyed at the comb until the gold reverted back to its standard brown. They narrowed at Hanzo, an attempt at another glare but Hanzo shrugged it off with his own impish grin. Tempting the wolf was hardly the safest move, but he had never been one to run from danger. He confronted it, outsmarted it, made it his equal.

So what held him back?

The thought stiffened him, unnoticed by Jesse as he took the comb and moved away, letting Hanzo return to his spot. The space between them was miles wide and close enough for his breath to breeze through the hairs on Hanzo’s neck. The warmth was gone, the heat in its place wet and heavy; their minds were elsewhere and their hands to themselves.

Hanzo gripped the sink as Jesse combed, glaring at himself in the mirror. Why the hesitation? Why so much unfounded fear over such a simple thing?

(But it wasn’t simple, was it? Not for him.)

“Huh, would ya lookit that.” Jesse’s gruff tone brought him back to the bathroom, unsure of the time passed. The gunslinger’s reflection was forlorn and looking to their right. Hanzo followed his gaze and saw the window, their view blocked by the drawn shutter blinds. Lights flickered behind it and he focused on the gaps.

“Christmas lights?” He asked, reeling back to watch them in the mirror again. “What about them?”

“I dunno, I…” He put the comb down on the sink and Hanzo handed him the shears, the request unspoken. Jesse swallowed and tore his gaze away from the offending decorations. “These holidays have always been ‘bout grimy brown snow, dark an’ miserable weather, bein’ forced to be happy because where’s your festive spirit, McCree; don’t be such a Scrooge!”

He let out a grimaced snort, rolling his eyes as he measured Hanzo’s hair against the shears. Hanzo let out his own breath; at least he hadn’t caused the turn of mood.

“I’ve never been more south than Grand Mesa ‘round this time of year. Guess it never occured t’ me that this time o’ year can be happy for some folk, ‘specially if it involves goin’ to the beach.”

Hanzo laughed as best as he could without jostling Jesse’s work. Their eyes met again and he smiled softly up at him.

“Humbug?”

“Damn right, darlin’.” Jesse glanced to the window again and then started cutting away, taking more weight off with every snip. “Maybe if I’d spent a few Decembers down ‘ere, I wouldn’t be such a sourpuss ‘bout a holiday.”

“You’re not wrong to hate such a superficial version of the holiday.” Hanzo said, his eyes downcast and watching strands of his hair fall to the tiles.

“What ‘bout you then?”

“There’s nothing left for me to enjoy.” He swallowed, leaning back as Jesse ran his fingers through his hair. “In Japan, Christmas Eve is spent with a loved one and New Years with your family exchanging gifts. I have neither, so I’ve worked instead.”

Jesse hummed and let go of his hair, brushing down his shoulders and dropping the shears into the sink. Hanzo looked back up as Jesse slid his hands to cover his gripping the sink and pry the white knuckles off the edge. His fingers shivered from the strain and Jesse squeezed them.

“Even so, we don’t have t’ spend this time alone no more. You say the word an’ I’ll be there for as long as you want.”

_ “I wanna give that back… Do for you what you’ve done for me.” _

Hanzo spun around, facing Jesse chest-to-chest and piercing him with the lightning of dragons old. Jesse froze in place, still holding onto his wrists and feeling the energy sparking through his markings as Iwanko and Hachiko rumbled under his skin for a release.

Memories of the past nine years, alone and despondent with no one but himself to echo off of, flashed by him. Drowning himself in his bloody work to push away the misery of another year gone with no resolution to his fate. Jesse wasn’t his solution - far from it. But he was a relief, an anchor to hold onto in the darkest nights until he could make it to the next sunrise. And it was what he wanted to be.

“The same goes for you, McCree. Don’t you forget it.”

Jesse nodded slowly, grip tightening for a second before he quickly let go. “Course, I’d never wanna forget.”

Hanzo nodded back and returned to his reflection, turning his head side to side to inspect the cut. It wasn’t perfectly even and now his hair rested just above his shoulders, almost as scruffy as Jesse’s own. He felt lighter, even with the heavy load pulling on him, and he almost couldn’t feel it as he gathered it up into a high ponytail. A resistant short length fell into his face and he blew it out of his eyes; it was no matter.

“Here I thought yer long mane suited ya,” Jesse whistled, hands on hips and rolling back on his heels in their limited space. “Don’ I feel like a right fool.”

‘Fool’ was certainly an apt word for the both of them. 

“Thank you, Jesse.” He smiled, for this and much more. Jesse grinned back, reaching up to tip a hat that wasn’t there and instead crumbling into a poorly hidden fit of laughter that ebbed away at the roar and thunder in his soul. Fools, and rightly so.

 

**0XX0**

 

The trip to the Huascarán park took the better part of a day, and even though they left with the earliest bus service, they found themselves in the western end of the Parobamba district by nightfall with many miles yet to go before they had the mountains to themselves. The cool breeze of the valleys took away every fibre of fatigue clinging to Hanzo like sweat, filling his vision with luscious greens of every shade reaching to pearly white up in the blue sky. The glaciers of the last century were no more, but traces of their beauty were left to be awed. It was almost like home in the spring; if he closed his eyes and imagined, the cherry blossoms would be here too.

Getting into the park itself was an easier feat than it should have been, sneaking in their wolf forms under the cover of darkness past any fences or security there might’ve been. It was nothing they hadn’t bypassed before.

They kept on the move for a few nights, just to shake off any possible trail on them, before settling between mountains to set up a camp for themselves under the clear sky. No longer was it mocking them for their shortcomings or pulling at their hunger; the half moon was shining down, providing the only light they needed.

Hanzo stretched his arms above him and laid back down in the lush grass, nudging himself into Jesse’s side for warmth. An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he welcomed it, enveloping himself in his scent and the ambience of nocturnal wildlife keeping their distance.

“That’s gotta be the worst thing,” Jesse chuckled, throwing his head back into his hat-turned pillow. “A werewolf with a sweet tooth.”

“It _is_.” Hanzo sighed, resting his forehead on Jesse’s shoulder. “I can’t remember the last time I had a cake or a cookie.”

“Not even a cookie? Aw, darlin’!” Jesse pulled him into a one-armed bear hug, almost choking Hanzo. He pushed back, smacking his chest which got another laughed out of him. “God, I remember when I changed my diet after I turned. Shoulda figured I was a ‘wolf from all the peanut butter I was stealin’ from Winston.”

“You didn’t know you’d been turned?” He asked, uncurling from Jesse’s grip.

“Not ‘til my first shift. I wasn’ supposed…” He lifted his prosthetic, silver digits glinting in the moonlight as the words died on his lips. His fingers twitched and his smile fell from his eyes, suddenly far from him.

Hanzo waited, watching as the arm lowered onto his chest and fingers tightened into a fist. The arm around him tensed and his breathing slowed to the point Hanzo couldn’t hear it. There was no gold in his eyes, the grey taking over to delve him into a painful memory.

(Hanzo had never asked for the details about the loss of his arm, but he’d always had a sneaking suspicion. A man like McCree wouldn’t be bit without a fight.

Limbs are lost in battle, one way or another.)

“You don’t have to tell me.” Hanzo whispered as he stared up at the constellations, not recognizing any that went over.

Jesse shifted and pulled his arm back, lacing his fingers over his chest as his bare foot tapped against the grass. He took a breath, and another, then gulped.

“I wanna tell ya. You’ll understand where I was when I first met ya.”

Hanzo hummed and sat back, bodies pressed together side-by-side in whatever comfort he could give in the moment.

Jesse started slow, carefully picking his vague words to describe the classified Blackwatch mission, but once he crossed the threshold to facing the creature, his sentences turned to rambling - the wolf that wasn’t a wolf, a black skeleton with skin that heralded Death, beads for eyes that held no soul, and fangs that tore him apart, filled him with the poison that burnt him inside out.

Recounting how his commander, Reyes (or  _ Jefe  _ to Jesse), sawed off his arm to stop him from turning sent him into a Spanish rant for a good minute. Hanzo let him speak, even if he didn’t understand most of it, and waited until he went back to English, musing on how so much changed after his first shift.

He wasn’t Jesse McCree anymore. He’d become McCree, the time-bomb; McCree, a monster in human’s skin.

From then until now, he was an echo of the beast in that bunker. 

“I’ve spent five years thinkin’ that if I ever lost control, I’d be just like it. No more McCree, no more Jesse.”

He explained, reluctant and stuttering. His voice was just above a whisper.

“Jus’ that hunger, forever.”

Hanzo gripped his flesh hand, digging his nails into the meat of his palm and hoping it conveyed everything his own words failed to. Jesse squeezed back, just as tight and just as silent. They laid together, looking at the patterns and lights of the natural sky.

Hanzo made his decision.

“Jesse, what do you know of the Shimada spirits?” He asked, not turning or acknowledging Jesse’s stand to attention.

“I know each Shimada is born with a connection to an ancient guardian spirit, or two, that only the family can control an’ ya use ‘em in battle as an ultimate weapon of sorts.” He answered, sitting up without letting go of his hand. Hanzo stayed in his position, running his thumb over Jesse’s knuckles.

“Centuries ago, the Shimadas were a clan of dragons, powerful and born from fire, but only in a mortal sense. Then, one day, the eldest son of the clan crossed paths with a starving wolf. It asked for a scrap of food and the son, a loyal, respectful young man, offered the wolf everything he had. Touched by his actions, the wolf revealed itself to be an Okami and vowed to pay the son back for his kindness. It blessed the Shimadas by bonding each to a guardian spirit, or two, and would protect the bloodline as long as they did right by it and worshipped its shrine. A small price to pay to become one of the most feared families in Japan.”

He paused to swallow and give relief to his drying throat. Jesse held onto him, burning holes into the side of his head with his gaze. Everything around them faded away, leaving them in a void of their own.

“I shed pack blood on hallowed ground, and shattered a generations long pact with a god.”

Hanzo turned to Jesse, eyes sore and filling amber as Hachiko took over, setting him back with Iwanko. She took their hand out of Jesse’s and held up his tattooed arm. The markings glowed softly.

“They punished Master and us, Cub.”

Jesse choked and he fumbled back to sit upright, staring into him hard enough he might’ve seen Hanzo staring back.

“Hachi?” He whispered, eyes darting from their face and the markings on their arm. She nodded and he fell back onto the grass, hands in his hair and curses under his breath.

Hanzo took back his place and crossed his arms, talking slowly of the night and the Okami’s curse, bonding the spirits to his soul. The break of sacred barriers between summoner and guardian; the months of endless wails and weeping only he could hear echoing through his mind; the loneliness of knowing it was  _ all your fault _ \- despite the constant thoughts that weren’t his, leaving no room in his head for anything else. He was still alone.

He was both, and neither. Stuck between worlds he can never truly be a part of, at the mercy of an Okami unwilling to let him part with his crimes, even at the hands of a dear friend. 

Once all was said and done, Jesse lay comatose with a hand over his eyes and every muscle too tense to be taking this well.

“Jesus tap dancin’ Christ.”

Hanzo closed his eyes, sagging under his own weight and guilt. “I apologize for not telling you before you proposed a relationship under false pretenses.”

“No, yeah. I…” Jesse groaned and shifted up off the grass again. Hanzo opened an eye, finding him hunched over. “God, I put you right in the line of danger! Tellin’ ya all of that crap when a friggin’  _ god  _ is gonna hurt ya for even thinking ‘bout it!”

Something twitched in Hanzo’s mind, dragging up that fear, the hesitation to the forefront. End this now, before he gets hurt; let it wither,  _ let it die _ -

“Forget I ever said anything, Han. If you’re gonna get punished, I ain’t worth it.”

“ **_No_ ** .”

They stared at each other, mouths agape and the quiet stilling the air between them. Neither moved, only blinked in an attempt to shake that one word off.

_ No _ .

That terror, buried so deep he hadn’t seen it in all the years he’d spent trying to survive, trying to cope with a life not meant for any man. Through the haze of voices, thoughts, feelings that were not his, he was tethered to that night by the Okami. Another chain, controlling his life without consideration for him.

No.

He refused to bow any longer.

“I won’t forget it.” Hanzo sat up, facing Jesse head on and gripped his arms, pulling him down to his level. His jaw was still slacked, processing the turn of events, and nodded minutely. “I want what you’re willing to give, and to return it tenfold for you.”

Jesse’s mouth clamped shut and his expression softened, his affection flowing freely from every laugh line and shine in his eye. Hanzo would never tire of seeing it.

“I control my life, no mortal or god will change that, Jesse. I will fight them all the way to Hell before I let that happen.”

Jesse grabbed his wrists, the affection ironed into determination and his smile grew fangs, ready to bite.

“I’ll be with ya the whole way, sweetheart.” He leaned in, pressed their foreheads together. “I’m all in.”

“As am I, no matter what.” Hanzo let go of Jesse and wrapped his arms around his neck as Jesse pulled him in for a kiss. He tilted his head, readily returning it and nurturing the warmth in his chest, all worries thrown aside for the security holding him as if he was all that mattered. 

Whatever may be, they would face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, this chapter didn't exist in the original outline and I hastily added it in to give Hanzo some extra development and let these nerds have a breather before I throw them back into the action. I'm glad I wrote this, it really helped out with the overall story arc.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Your comments give me new life and keep me writing/crying with happiness. 
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	13. Rough Seas Will Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Another animal death with mild gore, descriptives of depression that I've based off my own experiences that may feel overwhelming to some, the beginnings of a panic attack, and other canon-typical violence from the comics (Plus I poke some light fun at A/B/O tropes because they ridiculous lol)
> 
> Welcome to part 1 of what was originally a 20k word long chapter 13, cut in half for your benefit! Thanks again to my beta @Autocon_21 for helping me as always and to my friend Dragon for letting me borrow her OC Iida, as well as to all those who sent me lovely messages over twitter, Ko-Fi and discord! You've all encouraged me to keep writing and your comments have honestly made me cry 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

Spending these weeks in the Peruvian mountains had been a vacation over 20 years in the making for Jesse, and it wasn't just as a result of Hanzo making their partnership official. Though, he certainly made up a large portion of the reasons, and Jesse wondered what this trip would’ve been like going solo.

(Nowhere near as therapeutic or satisfying, that was for damn sure.)

Even with the humid air filling his lungs and dragging him down below the dirt, he could breathe again.

And the best part was knowing, without a doubt, that it was mutual.

The nights spent under the stars were done sleeping in their human forms, with little resistance stemming from their shared cautionary tendencies. Iwanko and Hachiko still kept guard as best they could, but the fact Hanzo wanted to curl up next to him with his back uncovered as they slept in the open spoke volumes words couldn’t match.

That trust was shown back in every way Jesse knew how to: he kept Peacekeeper in arm’s reach instead of clutched under his pillow; took his prosthetic off each time they laid down; let himself fall asleep first; gave Hanzo a reasonable distance on the nights he knew would be harder to get through, when he’d claw the closest thing in his struggle against the nightmare.

And so on, and so on.

With so much time to themselves and no fear of being ambushed or forced out of their pocket of tranquility, they gradually let themselves open up more, bearing their souls in a way they’d never done before, even with their most loved ones. They wouldn’t have understood. Now it was different; it was liberating.

Words didn’t come easily to either of them, preferring to start with age old quips and japes to break any ice left between them. With a few jokes out, they would fold into each other under the twilight, whisper secrets between heated kisses and hold them as tightly as they held each other:

Hanzo had many gaps in his memory, enough to forget his mother’s face and laughter, or if he had ever been a brother to Genji before their father’s untimely death.

Jesse couldn’t remember anything of the family he’d been born into. The Omnic Crisis took them when he was young, leaving him to be picked up by others since and belonging nowhere.

Hanzo had once been a prodigy of the blade, taught by prestigious masters of all sword forms until he’d surpassed them all. He had killed Genji by the sword.

He hadn’t touched one since, and never would again.

Peacekeeper had been a gift from Jefe for Jesse’s 21st birthday, to celebrate his ‘official’ entry into adulthood and making it so far with Blackwatch.

It’d been the only time Jesse had openly cried in front of Reyes.

In his 20s, Hanzo had been engaged to the son of a close ally to his father. His name was Shintarō Iida. They’d been close friends; they’d loved each other with brief touches and promises of an empire, up to the day the Iida family disappeared without a trace. Sojiro died a week later.

That was all Hanzo could - _dared to_ \- remember of the man who would’ve been his.

(Jesse had never heard of such a story from Genji nor read about it, or the Iida family, in the profiles. A small part of him wondered with Hanzo if the brothers had _ever_ been close.

And another was quickly squashed before he could dangerously conclude to keep them apart as long as he could; that was interfering, causing trouble where he had no right.

He still didn’t want Genji to kill Hanzo. Not anymore.)

In the shade of a rivery valley, protected from the harsh winter sun, they walked side by side at a leisurely pace without a destination in mind. Wherever they ended up, that was where they went. All Jesse hoped for was a raw meal for the next full moon.

He rested his cheek atop Hanzo’s head mindful of his ponytail, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him into the embrace to graze his lips against his temple. Hanzo hummed and leaned into his touches, enveloping himself into what little space was left between them, finally settled once Jesse pulled him into his serape. The gunslinger chuckled, the tender feeling nestled and growing in his chest in the gaps once occupied by solitude and a pariah’s woe; there was no room left for them, he was so overcome by Hanzo’s blooming affections he wouldn’t have recognised them if they were still present.

They slowed in their tracks as Hanzo buried his nose into the crook of Jesse’s neck, breathing deeply and smiling against his skin. Jesse nosed his hair and squeezed his shoulder, murmuring in his ear.

“Find somethin’ ya like, sweetpea?”

Hanzo huffed his laughter at the honeyed words, curling his hand into Jesse’s pocket and intertwining their fingers. Rough scars and old callouses rubbed against his own, each holding a dozen stories ready to be told when asked.

“There are a few things here I like.” He leaned up to whisper against the shell of his ear. Jesse shivered and rumbled in his throat, tightening his grip on Hanzo’s hand.

“Yeah? How much do ya like ‘em?” He stroked his thumb over Hanzo’s knuckles, smirking as a teasing memory came back to him. “More than you can admit?”

Hanzo lifted his head up, forcing Jesse to adjust and look down at him. His brows were creased, not in irritation but great concentration. His eyes flickered gold and his lips were set in a line as he roamed over his face, watching every twitch and wrinkle. Hanzo lifted his free hand to Jesse’s chin, ducking his head down to brush their noses together.

“I’ll find a way.”

There were no other words for it: his heart was bursting with pride, and not because he’d become devoted to someone he’d never thought he’d find. Hanzo was taking his life back from men and gods alike, finally making it his own - how he wanted it to be. A control he’d so long been denied was in his grasp and nothing would make him let go. No malevolent god, spiteful shadow employers or Shimada-Gumi would have a chance of taking it back as long as Hanzo breathed.

And he’d chosen _Jesse_ to be part of it; that made him gosh darn bashful.

Hanzo must’ve seen the thought crawling onto his face, as he ran his thumb over Jesse’s lower lip. He kissed him softly, running his fingertips over his growing stubble and Jesse gave in to the urge to close his eyes, smiling like a loon as Hanzo pulled away. Hot air breezed over his lips, raising goosebumps everywhere and simmering the desire in his gut down to a purring content at the thought of being curled up at Hanzo’s side tonight.

It was probably the honeymoon period talking, but he was happy. He had a place that was his own, somewhere he was wanted not for his skills but for him as a person. Someone _wanted_ him, understood him, made him feel alive after years of Death on his tail. A packmate in the midst of loneliness and, most importantly, a dear friend.

He should never be so lucky, and yet. (How the hell had he gotten here again? And how could he freeze this moment for all time, never leaving their side of paradise?)

Jesse McCree was a big sap and he had no shame reveling in it today.

Hanzo tugged on him and he opened his eyes in time to find himself falling into step with the archer again. His knowing smirk was but a shadow hidden under his white moustache, but Jesse could see it crinkling the corners of his eyes. He nudged him, not trusting himself to speak at this moment, and Hanzo caved.

“As much as I enjoy the stolen moments, we do need to find somewhere suitable to set camp tonight.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “Sunset ain’t for hours.”

“It won’t long be here at this rate.” Hanzo took his hand out of Jesse’s pocket and picked up his pace, hopping over rocks and old logs littering the riverbank. “Hurry up, cowboy!”

Jesse snapped his jaw shut and clutched the duffle bag strap before hurrying after Hanzo, narrowly avoiding the pitfalls of nature underfoot. He caught up and diverted an ass slap to a squeeze of Hanzo’s shoulder (maybe later, whenever they got around to actually having sex and being that comfortable in their new boundaries) sharing another smile and stealing another kiss just because he could.

Hanzo tapped his cheek away and furrowed his brow sternly, even if his face was flushed and gaze glowing. “Save your energy, Jesse.”

“I’m puttin’ it t’ good use, cariño.” Jesse growled back, wagging his eyebrows.

Hanzo snorted and ducked his chin into his chest in an effort to hide it, which only served to (in Jesse’s humble opinion) make him adorable. How this man could be the same as the bloodstained hunter he killed alongside wasn’t so much a question as it was evidence of the kind of person Hanzo was; layered and willing to share himself even in his unique circumstances.

It was best not to let his thoughts linger on said circumstances for too long, lest he start worrying about the logistics of starting a relationship with someone who shared a body with a pair of ancient wolf spirits with whom he shared every sensation and emotion with.

(He couldn’t afford to go down that rabbit hole.)

“I would rather it be reserved for the journey ahead,” Hanzo visibly centered himself (Jesse let go of the pang of disappointment) and pried himself away from Jesse, though hell be damned if he let go completely.

Hanzo looked between Jesse’s face and the hand curved around his fingertips, raising an eyebrow. Jesse smirked back, shadowing his glib under the brim of his hat. Hanzo still found it and threw the grin back, all teeth and sharp edges holding an enticing promise. The flame in his gut roared back to life and his readiness to follow this wolf anywhere grew tenfold.

If the roaming gaze and dark intent were anything to go by, it was the same for Hanzo. Wherever they went, at least they went together.

(Some part of him wondered what Ana and Jefe would think of this turn of events, being so intimate with someone as dangerous and deadly as Hanzo Shimada.

_‘Even a charmer like you can’t live long here, Jessito. Run, and never look back.’_

_‘After everything and you’re nothing more than an ingrate mutt. Keep it together, agent.’_

Well, maybe it was time to let go of the past.)

Hanzo tugged on him again and they marched on, side by side with only mere inches keeping them apart. Jesse wasn’t sure how long they walked, time flying by as he focused on the archer next to him, sharing body warmth even when it was too much to bear in this summer. He could feel the spirits flowing under Hanzo’s skin, radiating more heat than he’d ever held in his core.

Iwanko and Hachiko rushed through his blood, ready to strike whenever their master ordered, held back by his word alone. They swarmed within him, allowing him to concentrate on Jesse without the distraction of the wolves’ senses taking him out of the moment.

Jesse, to the small extent he could bear to, was still trying to wrap his head around how they worked, but Hanzo assured him he had nothing to worry about from either spirit; he was no different to before for the most part. They would never step foot into their relationship, no matter their shared condition. That eased Jesse enough that he could ignore all his nagging anxieties in favour of Hanzo’s soothing words, making the most of their moments.

The sun was lowering by the time they found flat, dry ground to set camp on, and Jesse went through their duffle bag while Hanzo shifted and hunted down their next meal.

Counting their ammunition, Jesse still had most of his bullets, loath to use them unless he could restock quickly lest he be found in a shootout without any, while Hanzo had held onto all of his arrows, though they needed light repairs and maintenance after hours of target practice. Jesse had a supplier in Houston who could get what Hanzo needed, but that meant leaving Peru and its safe haven for whatever lay ahead.

With their clean clothes practically non-existent and other daily necessities gone sooner than expected, he knew that soon enough they would have to return to civilisation. Damn, and he was hoping they could last until New Years. At this rate, they’d be back in the States before Christmas.

(Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing; he could find a way to give Hanzo a Christmas cake and spend the holiday sober for once.)

The heavy scent of fresh blood jerked Jesse’s head up over the humble campfire and he grinned at the sight of a successful hunt. Hanzo trotted over, their meal crushed in his giant jaws, and dropped it at Jesse’s feet. He didn’t recognise the animal, nor did he care if it tasted as delicious as it smelt. He stared up at Hanzo’s regal lupine face glowing against the firelight and dimming sun, taking advantage of the rare moment Hanzo towered over him. He never noticed just how big their wolf forms were until he was the one left up close on two feet.

Hanzo licked his fangs clean and rolled the carcass closer before moving behind Jesse, and waiting. He chuckled and moved the duffle aside to where his hat lay, leaving plenty of room for Hanzo to lie down and curl around him, tail thumping in the dirt and head in his lap. Jesse ran his fingers through the thick fur and leaned back into the comfort of his muscular form, digging his nails in as he scratched Hanzo’s ear.

“Feels good, don’t it?” Jesse smiled as Hanzo leaned into the touch, tilting his head to a better angle for full effect. He inhaled deeply, savouring the crackling scent of ozone known only to Hanzo and noting how dampened it was despite his form; being so close to him for these past couple weeks, Jesse had come to discover other ways of knowing who was in control in either form, and the lack of lightning and petrichor on his nose told him it was Hanzo pushing his head into the scratching claws and wagging his tail.

(Of course the most tempting scent on Earth had to be _Kami magic_.)

Jesse crooned to him in Spanish, smile growing even as Hanzo rolled his eyes and huffed in his face. He eventually pulled away from the scritches and nudged Jesse toward the waiting meat. Oh right, dinner.

“This looks great, darlin’. Ya did good work today.” Jesse pulled out a switchblade from his belt and knelt over the carcass, poking around the torn flesh until he found a good slab of fatty meat to carve out. “Which parts do ya want?”

Hanzo snorted and crossed his front legs over each other, nudging him again. Jesse paused in the cutting to throw him a look, which Hanzo challenged with his own. An obvious sign, if any, for Jesse to get first pickings. Almost as if…

“Aw, sweetheart, are ya tryin’ to treat me proper?” Jesse chuckled as Hanzo pouted at the callout. He drove his switchblade into the animal’s side, recoiling as the insides spilled out.

Hanzo bumped his nose into Jesse’s side and nuzzled his way into his space, growling low in his throat. His paw rested on Jesse’s thigh, claws digging through the thin fabric of his pants.

 _Mine_.

Jesse stroked the leg, easing out the claws as he head bumped Hanzo, leaning against him and looking him dead in the eye. The distant moon’s light brushed against him, bristling the wolf and sharpening his fangs. “What a gentleman y’ are, darlin’.”

Without breaking his gaze, Jesse dug around through the organs, feeling around. “But you forget one thing…”

He caught onto his target and snapped it out from the bones with a smirk, leaning up to whisper into Hanzo’s ear.

“A pack has _two_ alphas.”

He nipped his ear and moved back to hold up the drying liver to Hanzo’s mouth. The wolf eyed it and narrowed his golden eyes at Jesse before sitting up tall, chest puffed out and markings glowing softly in a flush. He nuzzled under Jesse’s chin, fur brushing against his bared throat and heating up his equally flushed face, then bit the liver out of his hand. He chewed as he curled in tighter around Jesse, warming the rest of him.

Jesse let out a shuddering breath and shook his head, relief flooding through him that his flirt paid off. Hanzo laid his head back down on his lap, watching him with an all too knowing glint in his eyes. A look full of pride, all on him. Jesse shifted uneasily as he sat down cross-legged, distracting himself by taking out the kidneys to roast over the fire. This kind of attention, while refreshing to his ego, he doubted he’d ever get used to being on the receiving end of it; he was better at doling it out. Fareeha could call him her hero as much as she wanted and he could preen at Hanzo’s tenderness toward him, but something deep down refused to believe it.

He wanted to do better by his pack, old and new - he wanted to _be_ better. Come Hell or rising creek, he’d make himself worthy to everyone.

The telltale burst of energy rushed behind him was his only warning before Jesse found himself straddled by Hanzo, piercing gaze staring through him and warm hands cradling his jaw. Instinctively, he dropped the switchblade and gripped Hanzo’s hips through the armour and furs, holding him close enough to feel every reaction and fade out everything around them.

“You’re getting lost in your head again,” Hanzo murmured as he brought their foreheads together again, stroking down his throat and to the back of his neck. “What lies is it telling you this time?”

He reached over and took the kidneys away from the fire, the edges blackened to Jesse’s embarrassment. He cleared his throat and took one Hanzo offered, taking a tentative bite to round up his fleeing thoughts. The leather-like texture scraped his throat, the flavour of a thankfully dried up organ strong on his tongue; not the best he’d sampled but well enough for him to clear some of the sudden fog in his mind.

“Nothin’ much, just the usual bullshit, y’know?” He ducked his head, avoiding the browns he could easily drown himself in.

Hanzo hummed and scraped his nails through Jesse’s hair. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, moaning as the archer scratched at that sweet spot behind his ear with clear precision. He breathed in, senses overcome with the hypnotising scent he craved. The wolf growled but submitted under the gentle touch.

“Whatever they are, don’t believe a word of them.” Hanzo said too close to his ear, making him shiver and tighten his grip. He pulled back as Jesse opened his eyes again, a soft smile on his lips just for him. “I didn’t defy the Okami to choose someone unworthy of my time, Jesse. Hanzo Shimada doesn’t make mistakes with his companions.”

Jesse laughed and smiled back, hoping it reached his eyes enough to show his appreciation. “Ya sure know how t’ make me feel special, darlin’.”

“Good,” Hanzo preened, brushing back a stray lock of hair from Jesse’s face. “I’m doing for you what you do for me, as gentlemanly as that may be to you.”

“You ain’t seen the definition of ‘gentleman’ yet, Han. I can be a carin’ alpha too, jus’ you wait.”

Hanzo smirked and kissed him, chaste and pithy. “I expect nothing less, nor you from me. You take care of me and I’ll take care of you, as a pack should.”

Jesse tensed and he looked aside, independent defiance rising up despite better judgment. The wolf snarled under his skin - _protect the pack, fight,_ **_lead_ ** . He wasn’t some wilting Southern belle with the vapors, no matter how infatuated he was. This was his pack, he had to take control, do his job. He didn’t deserve the praise and attention, being doted on; he was just another gun, murderer, a _time bomb—_

Hanzo squeezed his shoulder, then pulled his head to rest against the crook of his neck. Jesse adjusted his hold, wrapping his arms around Hanzo’s broad back and curling his fingers in the fur of his pelt. His muscles relaxed as he took in that scent again, filling his mind with sweet nothings.

“I’ll be here when it goes, and I expect you to keep your word, ‘alpha’.” Jesse nodded and buried his face into the fur over Hanzo’s shoulder, staring at nothing but somewhat registering Iwanko and Hachiko floating around the forgotten carcass.

“You can count on it.” He murmured, heartbeat steadying to a docile rhythm that matched the one thumping against his ear to Hanzo’s throat.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Hanzo replied, low enough for him to hear, and Jesse smiled. This is what it was all about, what they fought so hard to attain without realising until they had it. The understanding that bonded them early on and held them together even when they didn’t see eye-to-eye, that turned into the first step of this intimacy.

They were both taking their own steps, at their own pace. Maybe his were small at the moment, but progress was progress and he was determined not to become trapped in his own habits, unable to escape the crossroads his mind conjured out of nothing. Determined to make this work; stand at Hanzo’s side as he found redemption, became a better person. He’d learn the same along the way too; the wolf in him would understand that.

He felt Hanzo turn his head, carding his fingers through his hair and brushing out the stubborn knots. He said something in Japanese, the pulse thrumming in his veins calling him to rest like a siren’s song as hands then trailed down his back; a shield ready to weather the worst. The indignation sparked again, fleeting but hot in his chest. He gripped Hanzo, half-formed claws scratching the armour. He needed a shield too, from the enemies an arrow couldn’t hit and close to home.

His own words repeated back to him - _a pack has two alphas_ \- and the clarity rang true in his thoughts. Protect each other, starting with knocking down the pedestals they had built for one another (Jesse had no idea when that had happened, but it was one more lethal habit he had yet to discard. He should’ve learnt that from Ana’s fall; how foolish.). They were in this together, equally, no matter what the wild moon-driven demons crawling up his back whispered into his Deadeye.

Hanzo moved again, this time to breathe space between their fronts, and held Jesse by the shoulders. His face read tiredness, but his smile was still there and the shine in his eyes bright as ever. It was all on him. He didn’t shy away.

“We do need to address a pressing matter, however.” Hanzo’s gaze flickered aside and Jesse’s followed, landing on the duffle bag.

He groaned high in his throat, absolutely _not_ a whine, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’ remind me, darlin’.”

“I don’t like it either, but we knew this would come eventually.” Hanzo kissed his forehead and straightened his back, but made no move to detach himself from Jesse’s lap. Against the drop of the sunset behind him, Jesse was almost tempted to call him divine and give in to the distraction coiling in his gut, anything to stay here that moment longer.

But Hanzo was right, he couldn’t deny it. He dropped his head against Hanzo’s chest and sighed, a stressful ache gnawing into his old bones.

“Can we stay like this, for a lil’ while?”

Hanzo held onto him and nodded into his hair, rubbing his thumb in small circles as soothing as a lullaby to a restless child. Jesse felt the crawling on his back loll to a shadow and he let a real smile show.

 

**0XX0**

 

They left Peru two days later, bribing (threatening) their way onto a pre-Crisis tanker from Talara all the way to a large dock outside Lázaro Cárdenas. The journey took a better part of a week, being on an old ship forced them to stay close to the mainland rather than face the winter sea storms further out. Much to Hanzo’s relief, Jesse stole the crew’s attention whenever he could with poker games (he won those) or rounds of darts (he lost those; he blamed it on his lack of sealegs). He was grateful for the distractions offered to his cowboy; his smiles at the end of the day were as tired as ever but less strained, shining from his eyes and dimpled cheeks, making Hanzo relaxed enough to slip into their old ways.

“Try not to Keel over,” took Jesse exactly 15 seconds to unravel and groan at. Especially when the eavesdropping crew members burst out laughing at his expense as he tried to fire shots back at Hanzo whomst was holding off more laughter from Iwanko and Hachiko.

 _Not this again!_ Iwanko growled as Hanzo coughed into his hand, gripping his stomach as Jesse floundered with his payback, which only served to split Hanzo’s face into a grin.

The “Are you all brine?” he got from a smug Jesse when he nearly tripped over a loose rope evened their score and brought the challenge to an end. Hanzo wouldn’t have given up so easily, but hearing Jesse laugh so freely after days of haunting doubts was enough for him to concede.

For the time being.

By the time they were trekking through Mexico again, all traces of Jesse’s bout of bleakness was but a far off memory. A wolf’s fierce devotion to the pack mixed with McCree’s old anxieties lurking in the back of his thoughts spelt downward spirals that made no sense to any logical person.

But Hanzo knew. That pattern of thinking during one’s darkest moments made non-existence seem like a dream, anything to get away from the pain your own head drudged up at the most arbitrary of moments. Not long ago he’d been searching for his own end in some vain attempt at regaining his honour. He couldn’t afford to be like that anymore, not when he had someone depending on him; when he had someone to live for.

Hopefully Jesse had some inkling of how much Hanzo depended on him too. Once he had the words, he’d tell him, without hesitation. His actions would have to be loud enough until then.

 _The best you can do for each other is be there._ Hachiko was right, as usual, and Hanzo set the thoughts aside. There was no point holding onto them when Jesse was flashing his hungry fangs and hinting at how he’d ravish him once they had a real bed to take over. Hanzo played along, though he had his own plans for that night, involving a lone cabin in the middle of the woods and a keening wolf pinned under him in the moonlight.

Though making full use of a bed was enticing to his resolve, there wasn’t much fooling around to be done once they reached the untouched hideout and promptly crashed on the pillows.

It was unsafe and stupid for the both of them to be out cold for nearly twenty hours, but the refreshed feeling and waking up to Jesse’s muffled snoring at his back made him forget it all.

Hours later after critiquing the Western decor of the safehouse, packing Jesse’s gear, washing their laundry and checking their messages (none for him, far too many for a dead man like Jesse), they pulled up a holomap and pondered their next move.

“We’ll need to avoid Deadlock turf or m’ cover’s blown.” Jesse said as he highlighted parts of the map - all of New Mexico, parts of southern to mid-Arizona, west Texas and spots of north Mexico that were thankfully nowhere near them - and crossed off the compromised travel routes. They were left with a tolled highway with tight border security, a dozen shady rural roads no doubt overrun with bandits, and trails of train tracks held over from the pre-Crisis days.

None were ideal, but they had little say in the matter. With McCree back in his highly recognisable ensemble, he was at risk of being seen in too public a place (not that Hanzo blamed him for refusing another disguise; there’s nothing quite like being in your own skin), so they opted to hike cross country over the border.

“Then we’ll hotwire a car, go off ‘til we run outta gas an’ options.” Jesse chuckled, lighting up a new cigarillo. A different brand from the Southern hemisphere, a new taste and smell. It wasn’t _his_ scent and it made Hanzo bristle.

“Yes, stealing a car will surely keep attention off us.” Hanzo rolled his eyes as Jesse jutted out his lip. He brushed out another knot from his pelt, nodding to Iwanko who stood aside. “You know how to hide, share some wisdom.”

 _My wisdom is to shift forms and forge our own path through the countryside, but I was overruled_ , Iwanko shook his head and sat up, looking up close at the holomap.

“Because it’s my body you’re tiring out, no matter who is in control.” Hanzo muttered, putting the pelt aside and slipping on his armour plates and hidden daggers. He wasn’t donning his full suit (it was another way to put a target on their backs), but he refused to go on defenseless. “Nothing else?”

 _Hitchhiking is always an option_.

“An’ risk gettin’ reported? Nuh uh.” Jesse huffed a cloud of smoke and crossed his arms, tapping an unfamiliar rhythm on his prosthetic. His gaze flickered over to the pinned up calendar, the upcoming date of the full moon circled several times.

“ _The driver doesn’t have to see us,_ ” Hanzo and Iwanko said in unison, the idea flaring across minds at bullet speed. Once in the States, it was the best way to stay out of sight as they travelled, and as long as they secured their hiding spots well enough, it was as safe as any other option. Their smirks mirrored and Jesse glanced between them without blinking.

“Now, _that’s_ creepy.” He shuddered. Hanzo didn’t deign that with a response; it was another thing about them he’d have to get used to eventually.

“If we’re careful and pick our targets well enough, we can create a chain that will get us to Houston and your supplier within a fortnight.” The plan rolled over in Jesse’s head, evident by his roving eyes and cigarillo chewing. A smile grew and then fell as his brow furrowed.

“Two weeks? That ain’t fast enough, we gotta be in ‘n’ out like—” He snapped his fingers, the metallic twang rattling nerves anew. Jesse looked over the map again, zooming in on a line cutting around the state. He went back to the calendar, teeth grinding audibly.

“Talk to me, Jesse.” Hanzo implored, trying to keep his voice away from the edge of pleading. Iwanko planted himself at Jesse’s side, poking his nose at the chaps and whining quietly. Jesse’s gloved hand scratched around his ears as he held his cigarillo, taking a long breath. Hanzo tilted his head into the touch, watching.

“Sorry, hon, but full moon’s in a couple weeks an’ it’s gonna be a stressful one. I have t’ be somewhere no one will report a wolf sightin’ long before then,” Jesse stubbed out the cigarillo, pocketing the rest of it and sighing out another stream of smoke. His hand rested on Iwanko’s head and Hachiko stirred under Hanzo’s skin, ready to smother them in her comfort.

Hanzo held her back, cursing himself for the obvious oversight. After meeting with the supplier, they had no solid destination in mind. All they knew was that they were going to hit Deadlock by surprise and dig into how they found out about Jesse’s weakness; Hanzo had insisted on it. Jesse had held off the last full moon for as long as he could in order to keep the Peruvian locals off their backs, and he couldn’t do it again. Cutting it so close wasn’t going to keep Jesse’s survival secret; they’d need a faster route.

Fingers dug into the back of his neck and Hanzo snapped his head up, leaning into the pleasant touch. Jesse smiled at him and pointed back to the line across the map.

“That’s…a train line.” Hanzo raised an eyebrow, lips pulled down as Jesse pulled his hand away from Iwanko. A train led them straight into the snake pit with no escape, far away from their destination. It wasn’t viable for their plan, they’d agreed on that.

Jesse’s smile sharpened to a smirk, eyes glinting under his hat, and he tapped the map, making the hologram fritz. “Not just any train. A _hyper_ train.”

 

**0XX0**

 

And that’s how Hanzo found himself hidden atop a speeding cross-continental hypertrain, watching the Texan landscape of lakes, trees and plains blur by. Jesse was sat next to him with their duffle between them, smoking and more relaxed than he’d been in days. How he kept his hat and serape on at almost 400 miles per hour, Hanzo didn’t know - nor was he aching to find out. As long as they got off without alerting any of the rich patrons inside, that’s all Hanzo concerned himself with.

Jesse was silent, hat tipped down and legs crossed. The only thing telling him the cowboy was alert was his prosthetic thumb rubbing over his gloved knuckles, as if anchoring them both to their alcove. They each only had their own thoughts to occupy their time, but Hanzo knew Jesse was in no danger of spiraling again. He was probably waxing poetic about the fresh air, or thinking of a way to snag a bottle of bourbon he’d smelt through an open vent without getting caught. Hanzo wondered what chance there was of the train bar stocking any sake.

The rubbing stopped. Jesse lifted his head up to the sky, eyes narrowed and half-shifted ears perked up. Hanzo followed his gaze to the clear blue sky, scanning the horizon. He called out Iwanko and Hachiko, and they stood undisturbed by the wind, watching the skies.

_‘What do you see?’_

_I only see faint clouds, Maste—_

_Brother, there! That noise,_ Hachiko craned her neck, ears pointed ahead. Hanzo closed his eyes and heard through her senses. Beyond the rush of wind and whistling engines, there was a rough rumble in the air. A disturbance, almost like…

Black dots in the sky. Drawing closer, following without wings.

Helicopters.

He drew his wolves back into his skin and opened his eyes to Jesse. He held a hand to Hanzo’s chest, keeping them out of sight as the helicopters drew near. He saw Jesse’s lips move in a curse around his cigarillo as figures dropped down from the aircraft on rope, either an incredibly stupid or skilled move. They huddled around a hatch, easily melting through and setting Jesse’s mind on overdrive, his metal fingers curling in on Hanzo’s jacket.

Hanzo pushed him off before he tore the fabric and turned his attention away from the intruders. He pointedly arched an eyebrow to the soldiers in black ahead - _They’re armed, military grade. These aren’t thieves looking for loose pearls_ \- and bore his eyes into Jesse’s flashing, golden ones.

His gaze hardened and Jesse - _Agent McCree_ \- took his hand and tapped on his palm a nonsensical pattern. Wait. No, he was speaking.

“Do you know morse?” McCree hastily tapped out, leaning in closer as if that would make him better heard. Hanzo nodded in reply and his shoulders slouched.

“Don’t know these folks. Using Blackwatch tactics. Dangerous, won’t take prisoners.” McCree paused, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t let them kill these people.”

The outcome was inevitable: word would get out that Jesse McCree was seen at a train heist, alive and well and certainly not dead by silver. Deadlock would be after him before they had a chance to attack. Even worse, McCree himself would probably be blamed for the raid and authorities of all levels would rain down on him for his arrest.

Was their plan worth more than the innocent lives below them? A selfish part of him growled; they weren’t pack, they were of no concern to them. He had to keep his mate _safe_.

But Jesse wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he stood aside, motionless. Hanzo couldn’t do that to him. He didn’t dare stand in the way of his peace and happiness.

Hanzo tapped onto his gloved palm. “What’s the plan?”

 _‘Help me keep him alive,’_ He whispered to himself. Iwanko and Hachiko rumbled their agreement, sparking up his arm.

McCree shot him his trademark smile, the one that melted the ice in his heart, and he knew this path to be true. He quickly tapped out another message:

“I’ll crash through window, surprise them. Take care of group in first car, you follow. Take care of second car before anyone’s hurt. Find out what they’re after, get it away from civilians.” McCree moved back, roaming over Hanzo’s face and worrying his bottom lip.

He pulled his hands away and pointed to Hanzo, then lifted his serape up to cover his mouth and nose as a mask would. If Hanzo was going to take part in a raid McCree would be publicly blamed for, they had to protect his identity. Unlike Tarifa, this wasn’t going to be swept aside quietly where no one would believe McCree was working alongside a wolfman. Even if they didn’t know who he really was, any clues linking his face to Jesse would do them only harm; it wasn’t as if he could shave, dye his hair and become a Morricone type. He’d tried.

Hanzo nodded again and slung the duffle bag over his back, hand resting over the pocket holding extra daggers. Stormbow, even under his pelt, dug into his back as he adjusted the strap and a pang of regret stung him. He had no arrows to use, and only his scatter arrows would be on any use with enough momentum but with such a small space and a car full of bystanders, the risk was too high.

McCree slipped his serape off and drawled it over Hanzo’s shoulders, the cowboy already looking too naked and defenseless despite his layers of armour and padding. Jesse smiled through and kissed him, pulling away before it could deepen to more. Hanzo grabbed his collar and whispered against his lips.

“Good luck.”

McCree tipped his hat, flicked his cigarillo away, gripped the metal of the car and swung over the side with enough force to shatter the windows upon contact. Hanzo hid away from the flying shards of glass and tightened the serape around him, pulling it up to cover the lower half of his face. Above the wind, gunshots rattled the air and frightened cries rang, none of them McCree’s. Hanzo smirked, pride flowing freely, and pulled the serape over his hair before following through the window.

He landed in a crouch to a quiet scene, air thick as the patrons whispered amongst themselves, all eyes on their strange heroes (Huh, what a word). Three bodies were littered at his feet, all oozing headshot wounds despite their masks and lost of life. It was shoot to kill then.

McCree stood ahead, refilling Peacekeeper’s barrel with a dark haunting shadow etched into his features, aging and greying him beyond his years. He glared at the soldiers and spat on the insignia stitched into their uniforms. It wasn’t one Hanzo could put a name to, but he’d seen it before, paraded around a potential employer years ago when his alias was gaining traction in the underworld of assassins. It meant a lot more to McCree, and it was nothing good.

Hanzo caught McCree’s eye as he glanced around and the corner of his eyes crinkled in a smile that never showed. He leaned aside and jerked his thumb down to the front of the car, where a lone soldier buried the muzzle of their gun into the secondman's head, paying no mind to the carnage behind them.

“Stay seated, folks,” McCree said without raising his voice as the false cheer in it would suggest to. “This’ll be over quick.”

He tilted his head to the soldier and Hanzo nodded back, the bloodlust of his spirits laying out his killing strikes. In a few hurried steps, he slipped a dagger from his belt and drove it through the soldier’s neck mid-sentence. He twisted the arm holding the handgun to crack the bone and snapped the neck over the blade before they’d even coughed up a drop of blood. Hanzo took his dagger out and let the body fall listless as McCree came up to the sweating, terrified mess of a secondman on the floor.

“So, a code. What does it open?” He curtly asked, still holding Peacekeeper high with a finger on the trigger. The secondman said nothing, staring slack-jawed at them both. McCree pressed on. “Somethin’ at the front of the train, or the back?”

“B-Back.” Was the final answer and McCree walked over to the car door. Hanzo glanced around and took the handgun, checking it over. Fully loaded and a model he was familiar with. It would do.

They walked through the door and peered into the next car. More soldiers were facing down the last door and holding their guns to a pair of passengers. They were shouting, their words muffled by the inches of steel and glasses separating them from the action but it was obvious enough they had what these guerilla men wanted. They had to act fast.

Heat poured off McCree’s shoulders, sun breaking through his skin as the only warning for the Deadeye. It darkened the shadow on his face and Hanzo backed away, holding his wit on his tongue. Iwanko and Hachiko kept stirring, hunger rising and their howls echoing his own desire to protect his pack.

_Kill the enemy!_

_No human dares to cross the Shimada!_

_Stand for the pack!_

But now wasn’t the time to sate their hunger. This was McCree’s mission, he’d follow orders.

The second door to the car swung open with an order to duck. McCree strode in, Deadeye hitting six in the head in a single bang. Hanzo rolled into an unoccupied seat and saw McCree slide in next to an elderly woman as the machine guns went off at the spot he’d stood just a second ago.

Hanzo peeked over the seat, spotting a soldier holding a passenger in a headlock a couple seats away from him and yelling into an earpiece about backup. There were four more in the aisle, rifles aimed and ready to shoot their heads off. Hanzo resisted the urge to chuckle and looked over to McCree, finding him already staring with mismatched eyes as he reloaded Peacekeeper. His lips were moving and Hanzo listened through his spirits.

“‘Bout to go through a tunnel, darlin’. You take left, I’ll take right?”

McCree would shoot down the gunmen in the spur of surprise the brief darkness would allow. Hanzo would kill the soldier with the hostage and pull them away from the fire, take out anyone McCree didn’t kill in one shot.

“Got it.” He whispered in reply and McCree fanned his hammer, nodding his signal. Hanzo sheathed his dagger and checked the safety on the gun. It was off and primed to fire fast, just like him.

“Last chance to surrender, stranger!” McCree called out, inching away from his cover to pounce. Hanzo gripped at the edge of the seat, building strength for the next jump.

“McCree, is that you?! I swear to God, I’ll kil—”

 _Now_ , they growled.

Light disappeared. Hanzo leapt over the seats, relishing the split second of unadulterated fear in the soldier’s tinted eyes as he shot him in the face. More shots rang beside him, bodies dropped to the ground, pained shouts cut short. He pulled the hostage away and shot the last standing soldier in the shoulder and neck, enough to bleed out in seconds.

The darkness fled as the train left the tunnel, revealing the pile of bloodshed to the horrified gasps and whimpers of the guests. The hostages ran to each other, embracing with sobs and fresh tears.

The door at the end of the car slowly opened as Hanzo stood straight, clicking the safety on the gun and dumping it with the bodies. McCree wandered through, toeing a few. None moved.

They shared a glance as Hanzo fixed the serape, noting the splashes of blood darkening the red. McCree’s eyes sparked gold once more, flaring a deep hunger and desire Hanzo almost missed blinking. It was gone as McCree turned to the cowering conductor overlooking their mess, but the warmth in Hanzo’s chest lingered and he became far too aware of how tight he felt in the moment.

“Excuse me, conductor? C’mere a sec.”

The older twig of a man stepped over from his hiding place and Hanzo curled his hands into fists, wishing for Stormbow’s weight in them. Anything to take him away from the abashed stares they were getting, as if they hadn’t just saved all their lives. Hanzo stuck to McCree’s side, hoping some of his charm would dampen the effect of his glare.

“Why don’t you go ahead an’ open the door?” McCree laid it on thick, words stilted and flat to Hanzo’s ears but honeyed and agreeable to anyone who didn’t know him. “Let’s see what they’re after.”

The conductor obeyed diligently and led them through to the locked door accessing the storage. He opened the door for them and a brilliant magenta light spilled over, all from a transparent containment unit in the middle of the empty car. Hanzo squinted at it, trying to determine what kind of vessel would warrant a train heist from an outright terrorist group, but it was too bright and staring too long brought spots to his vision.

“W-What is that?”

“I don’t rightly know. Partner?” McCree arched an eyebrow at him and Hanzo took another look.

 _It’s not generating energy,_ Hachiko stated, still crackling at the edges.

Iwanko nodded. _It’s more like a…battery, I want to say? Pulling energy from other sources, hence the crate._

“It’s dangerous,” He said aloud, crossing his arms. He didn’t know what kind of ‘battery’ this was, if it was one at all, but it couldn’t stay here. Neither of them were prepared to fight an entire fleet of those soldiers without losing anybody onboard.

McCree nodded and walked in, opening the side door to the wind and white landscape. “Their backup’s on the way, so I’m willin’ to let them have it.”

With a single kick, he sent the crate flying out and crashing into the thin sheet of snow just as the helicopters passed over the mountain, hovering over their target. McCree watched, hand on his hat, until the hypertrain made a turn and the enemy disappeared from sight.

“Yep, that got them off our backs.” He nodded and slid the door shut, turning back to the conductor. “How long ‘til we reach Houston?”

With the threat gone and quiet settling amongst the people again, nerves dissipated into nothing. Hanzo and McCree moved the bodies, weapons and all, into the storage car, though they could do nothing for the unfortunate stains left behind. With little left to do and a lot of time between them and the city, they took up the empty seats by the elderly woman McCree had covered with and accepted the offer of free drinks from the staff.

They sat opposite each other, McCree nursing his glass of bourbon on the rocks that Hanzo didn’t object against (both were too tired and weighed down now to argue over how sick he’d get from the alcohol), while he took the bottle of sake to save for later. For now he was content to watch the world outside the window from under the serape, slowly rubbing his crossed legs against McCree’s and half-listening to the buzz of the news on the holoscreen until reality crashed back down on them.

_“Breaking news — Outlaw Jesse McCree and an unknown accomplice have launched a raid on a hypertrain.”_

Ah, there it was.

McCree lit up a new cigarillo as he put down his glass and Hanzo rolled his shoulders, coiling up to jump at any moment. An attendant came up to McCree, stress rolling off him in waves. Hanzo watched closely as he rambled.

“We arrive at Houston in three minutes; what do you want us to say to the police?” The attendant glanced to Hanzo and he winced. “T-They’re blaming you both for this, I think they mean to arrest you.”

_“The fugitive is wanted for murder, theft, sedition, arson…”_

McCree sighed out a trail of smoke and held his cigarillo between metal fingers, tapping off the ash. “Yeah, I figured.”

Hanzo looked over his shoulder at the holoscreen, smirking to himself at the profile photo the newscaster had for Jesse. It was a couple years old at the very least and featured an untamed beast of a beard that took over his face, a stark contrast to the mix of stubble and goatee growing in after a dearly needed shave.

The attendant’s voice brought him back to the conversation. “What should we tell them?”

Their gazes locked on to each other, static and asking the same question in silence. Hanzo gave a quick shrug and McCree relented, tiredness taking over. It was too natural; he hated it. Only social convention stopped him from taking Jesse in and soothing it away. He needed a distraction.

“Tell ‘em the truth,” Jesse said, putting his cigarillo back between his lips. “If they don’t wanna listen, that’s on them.”

“We’ll need a few minutes to get off undetected,” Hanzo said, startling the conductor with a yelp. He shouldn’t get such a thrill out of making others uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help it; knowing he still had that effect on strangers after so long without practice pleased him.

McCree nodded, stroking the end of his beard. “There’s an idea: go on the radio, fudge our arrival time a bit, give us a nice head start. How ‘bout that?”

The conductor nodded and scurried away to the front of the train, leaving the two of them to find their own exit off the speeding hypertrain (after giving their thanks to the woman who shared her seats). They ventured to the back of the train, to where the bodies lay like dolls and smelt just as lifeless. McCree scrunched his nose as Hanzo stepped over them, opening the side door and peering out to the thinning fields of abandoned farmland, miles away from the suburbia outlining the city.

He held a gloved hand out to McCree, winter winds whipping the serape wildly over his face but his smile shone through, bringing them together. His markings glowed against the sunlight as he tucked Jesse against his side, fingers digging into the firm layer of fat over his abdomen. The warmth between them lifted them, giddiness returning after what seemed like years under the suffocating tension in the train cars.

They held on tight to each other and jumped off together, Hanzo shifting form midair to land easily on all fours, Jesse clinging to his back. Without missing a beat, he surged forward at full speed, blending into the grass and spots of snow effortlessly. It wasn’t part of the plan nor what Hanzo wanted, but at the end of the day they’d played the part of heroes and made this chase worth it. Jesse was smiling and weightless again, laughing into the wind and reminding Hanzo what life had given him for reasons beyond his understanding.

It was all worth it.

 

**0XX0**

 

Talon. Goddamn, motherfucking _Talon_.

Of all the criminal organisations in the world to show up in Texas, it had to be Talon.

After nearly 6 years on the run and not so much as a squeak from them until today. The optimistic part of him had hoped Gérard’s efforts had been enough to eventually rot Talon into the grave before his grisly death; that Doomfist’s arrest and imprisonment had left them too lost to carry on.

But of course, Talon was a hydra of a cockroach, rearing its ugly heads before they were completely forgotten by the world. And he’d just invited them to join in on the chase for his bounty.

God, he needed a stronger drink.

Jesse and Hanzo managed to sneak into the Houston outskirts through old cow fields and overgrown neighbourhoods that wouldn’t look twice as a giant white wolf and the cowboy riding it. Once people started to filter in, they kept to two legs each and hiked around the southern-east end of the city boundaries with their best attempts not to look like the news photos. Jesse, with a trimmed beard, sleeves pulled down, his hat and chest piece stuffed away, and the confidence to waltz in anywhere, had no trouble with the pseudo-undercover work.

Hanzo, on the other hand, even with his natural grandstanding strut and enough charisma to take over any room he wanted in half a sentence, stood out too much amongst the mundane middle class, and drew too many curious stares to his hair and markings at every street corner. Burying his face into the serape-turned-scarf was his last ditch effort to hide.

It would be something close to adorable if they weren’t so busy climbing over dumpsters and rusted fences to avoid blaring sirens and CCTV drones. Hanzo tried suggesting they separate and meet at the supplier, but Jesse quickly shot that down with the number one team rule: Never split up the party.

Even if it meant more hours catching the concern slipping onto Hanzo’s expression, from him and the wolves.

None of them said anything - they didn’t need to. Jesse knew he hadn’t been himself all day, Hanzo was worried about another breakdown. Nah, he was too rightly pissed for that.

(But how could he begin to explain how Talon had torn close friends from his arms, blown up any semblance of a life he could’ve had by targeting those mercenaries, shot Ana’s hawk eye out, made Fareeha _sob hundreds of miles away from him—_

Now Talon was turning his old brothers-in-arms against him. How much did they know? What had they spilled to their new overlords? Were they gonna shoot the next silver bullet?

What could he say or do? With all their shared secrets, Hanzo still didn’t _know_ Blackwatch. He hadn’t been there, seen it, breathed it, lived it.

It was too much to think about.)

He pre-occupied himself with typing a draft for the blog on his phone, speaking in Morricone’s silent voice about the wonders of Lake Conroe and lamenting how he’d missed the vigilante action his diligent audience knew he thirsted for. As he wrote up notes for a non-existent interview with a hypertrain passenger to tell the ‘real story’, his feet led them to the supplier’s backdoor on auto-pilot, only taking note of his surroundings when Hanzo stopped him from walking into a door.

Ol’ Valentina answered the door after two knocks with a scowl and a 20th century shotgun aimed too low for Jesse’s liking. He grabbed Hanzo’s wrist before he could grab a dagger and smiled at the taller, darker woman.

“Anybody follow you, asshole?” She asked in Spanish, her deep, husky chainsmoker voice grating against his ears. Oh how glad he was for his healing keeping his voice sweet and young, no matter what anyone else said.

“You know I’d never do that to you or your customers,” He replied in kind, wishing to himself he could hide behind his hat. Hanzo tensed up beside him, taking note of everything despite understanding nothing.

Valentina looked between them, narrowing her dark eyes at Hanzo. Jesse stepped in front of him, glaring back and making his threat clear as daylight. Not that the archer needed protection from someone like Val, but Jesse would give it anyway.

The shotgun lowered and Valentina scoffed, rolling her eyes high enough to disappear into her long greying curls. She stepped back into the building, leaving the door wide open. Same treatment, even after all these years and Ana’s good word on his character.

“Yer lucky you still get letters, cowboy.” She called back in English as Jesse and Hanzo cautiously followed in after her.

“I got letters?” Jesse paused in his surveying of the store room, aisles covered in categorised boxes and draws containing every bit of inventory that made up Val’s business. She stood in the doorway at the other end of the room, watching Hanzo as he shut the other door behind them and sidled up to Jesse. He pressed his hand into the small of Jesse’s back, a comforting pressure.

“A couple, but I ‘spect you ain’t here for them,” Valentina walked away deeper into her store without so much as a second glance. Jesse shook himself out of his stupor and took Hanzo’s hand in his, leading him through the near-labyrinth of bullet shells and power tools.

“I’ll take ‘em alongside a special order.” He said as they came through to a secluded office corner, the desk covered in tablets and files piled high around a laptop.

Valentina scoffed, reached into a desk drawer and threw the bundle of letters at Jesse. He caught them easily and thumbed through them. Four opened white envelopes as innocent as any bill addressed to a small business in downtown Houston, but Jesse knew differently. The eye of Horus stared up at him from the stamps, reminding him of every lesson taught and forgotten. How much he’d thrown away for this moment…

“He needs ammunition and I need maintenance supplies.” Hanzo’s voice startled him back into the room and he saw Val crossing her arms at him. Jesse took a breath and shifted on his feet, jingling spurs filling up the uneasy silence.

“What kind?” Val asked Hanzo and he stepped out, duffle in hand. Jesse watched out of the corner of his eye as the letters took his attention again; they were in this together, on equal ground. The wolf would have to listen to reason, learn to fully trust his packmate and how to submit to each other. Before it crept into Jesse and ruined everything.

As Hanzo took out his arrows and explained what he needed with a expression fit for a oyabun who’d never heard of the word ‘no’, Jesse unfolded the letters and quickly scanned through them. One was a copy of a letter he’d received in Vancouver back in February and the other three were no more than a couple months old, the most recent having come through last week. He brushed his thumb over the dried ink of Ana’s tailored handwriting and could just picture her writing in her corner of the world, wherever that was. Not like she ever bothered to tell him.

The first letter was nothing outside what he’d come to expect out of Ana’s updates to him. Letting him know she was alive and well, having spoken to Fareeha about her worries of her safety. She’d just been caught up in chasing a lead that confirmed her suspicions of old enemies returning (oh, how right she was) and couldn’t show her head without losing the entire mission. She asked after him, why he’d disappeared over the summer, if he was staying safe during the full moons.

The second was shorter, written in a haste evidenced by the splashes of ink between the words. She’d heard through the grapevine that Deadlock had shot Jesse McCree dead with silver in Dorado, left for the buzzards and vultures in the grasslands without a trace. He’d been bleeding too much, nowhere to run: the outlaw was gone for good.

Ana laughed the idea off. She knew Jesse too well; there was no way a single silver bullet could’ve pierced through all his armour, much less actually killed him. Nonetheless, she was keeping the news away from Fareeha. She didn’t need to worry about him.

The last letter, a week old, was a single sentence stained with ink and drops he hoped were rain:

_Habbibi, please come home._

A new weight settled in his heart and Jesse pursed his lips, the world turning quiet. He’d had no idea, never even thought of the news of his so-called ‘death’ reaching anybody who still spared him a kind thought. He’d needed to disappear - wanted to disappear - and Hanzo gave him a way, a chance to be together without the stress of their lives lapping at their heels. There had been no doubts, second thoughts - nothing. Just a selfish desire he fulfilled and wouldn’t trade the world for.

(He was going to apologise to Ana, Fareeha, and everyone for the rest of his life.)

Hanzo came back to him as he conjured up the first draft of his reply in his head, standing in front of him with his head held high and satisfaction drawn into the crows feet at his eyes. Jesse folded up the letters and shoved them into his pocket as Hanzo wrapped his arms around his waist, leaving him to drape his own over Hanzo’s shoulders. He quickly checked for Valentina but found her nowhere.

“She’s busy with our order, we have some time to ourselves.” Hanzo explained as he leant up to kiss him, slow and aimless. More a comfort than a statement, something to help bear the weight of a past caught up to him.

Jesse kissed him back, reveling in the burn of beards against uncovered skin, and ran his tongue over the invisible scar over Hanzo’s bottom lip (he’d be dreaming of that breathy moan tonight) before pulling back to kiss at his temple. The arms around him tightened, lowering to territory better suited to explore somewhere far more private.

“Get what we need, cariño?” Jesse asked, stopping Hanzo in his tracks with a grunt and a glare that promised payback.

“Yes. Your supplier is easy enough to deal with once you show some backbone.” He smirked and pinched Jesse’s ass. He bit down on a yelp and instead let his cheeks burn red, gripping Hanzo’s jacket as the archer’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.

“I show plenty o’ backbone. When a gun’s pointed at the family jewels is not the time t’ show it, Han.” Hanzo laughed again and kissed his cheek, probably rolling his eyes like the smartass he is.

“Is everything alright in the letters?” He asked, bringing his arms up to a respectable height and sobering the mood too soon.

Jesse rolled his shoulders and crossed his arms behind Hanzo’s head, looking up at the cracked ceiling. “Fareeha’s mom gets in touch with me every now ‘n’ then, lettin’ me know she’s alright and not rottin’ in a ditch somewhere. She heard rumours ‘bout Deadlock killin’ me and wrote me t’ make sure they weren’t true.”

Hanzo’s brow creases in dawning realisation. “You didn’t receive the letter, so you didn’t reply and she thought the worst.”

“Right on the money.”

Hanzo let out a long breathe and rested his head against Jesse’s chest. “I am sorry, Jesse. I should have given you time to let them know you were alive.”

“It’s okay, darlin’.” Jesse kissed his hair, fingers playing with the frayed ends of his serape. “Prob’bly for the best I stayed quiet, wouldn’t have wanted anyone findin’ those messages.”

“Still.” Hanzo moved back to look him in the eye, the warm affection bleeding through his downturned lips. “Will you write her back?”

“Already on it.” Jesse smiled and Hanzo returned it, giving space to let him dig out a burner from his pocket. “You can even watch me type it out, sweetpea.”

“As much as I’ve _always_ wanted to watch you text someone else,” Hanzo rolled his eyes again and flicked a stray lock of hair hanging over Jesse’s nose, then took a deliberate step back. “I’m going to find a way we can securely leave the state.”

“Which way you plannin’ to take us?”

“I assume you still want to go after Deadlock, even if the element of surprise has been taken from you.”

Jesse paused in his dialing and bit down on his lip, looking away. They could still follow their original plan, which was already risky and relying on data he’d picked up before being shot (as well as the fact that Deadlock would be so confident in his death as to not change their warehouses), but with there being no doubt that they’d picked up on his survival now. There’s no way his intel was of any use to them now.

“Gonna have t’ save that for another day, darlin’.” Jesse rubbed the back of his neck and groaned under his breath. Weeks of planning and preparing, down the shitter over one train heist. But those people were safe, he couldn’t start regretting that.

“Then where do you need to go?” More questions were held up on Hanzo’s tongue, he could tell, but he trusted him.

Jesse stroked his beard and tapped his burner against his thigh, nervous energy burning at the tips of his fingers and nowhere to go. “Best thing t’ do would keep my nose to the ground, dig up what I can for a new strike, but with my bounty goin’ up like a motherfucker at th’ moment, that ain’t really an option.”

Hanzo nodded and twisted the end of his moustache, which Jesse watched with a new warmth on his face and a reminder that this side of Hanzo was one for him, one no one else had the privilege to see.

“What about your inside contacts? If they’re still in the gang and have heard the news, they may get back in touch with you.”

“If they’re willin’.” Jesse glanced at his burner, turning it over in his hand. He couldn’t make the first move, lest he accidentally rat them out to the bosses. And they weren’t gonna call him just yet, not with everyone on high alert and rushing to move things around.

“We can’t stay here either,” Hanzo said, voicing his own thoughts. “I have an idea, if you are willing to hear me out.”

“Always.” And that was the hard-earned truth.

Hanzo’s lips lifted into a sly smile, made all the more devilish (maybe even playful) by his hooded dark gaze. He stepped in again, trailing his hands up Jesse’s chest leaving a fire that sent all manner of sinful ideas through him.

“How do you feel about spending New Years at the cabin? The two of us, alone, no one to hear us for miles…” Hanzo purred, curling his fingers into the fabric and flashing his teeth, practically undressing him with his eyes alone. Oh the things that deep, rich voice of his did to him. How he wore his serape like he belonged in it, the smoke and musk masking the ozone. What he wanted to do in return…

Hanzo pulled back as Valentina walked past her office, arms full of tools and a dirty glare sullying her wrinkled features, and took out his own phone. Jesse remembered to breathe again and coughed, crossing his legs hoping to cover the evidence. Hanzo’s quiet laughter proved it didn’t.

“Security will be too tight for our passports to get through any airports, but they should be enough for us to get seats on a transatlantic ferry or boat shuttle.”

The wolf howled, silencing every thought and burning the moon’s light onto his back. His hair stood on end and he shuddered, willing the minute shift away. Not here, not now.

“Darlin’, the full moon’s not that far off…” Hanzo hushed him with a touch to the cheek, smile turning soft once more.

“I have no plans to put you or anyone else in danger. I know what to do.”

A low whine escaped, despite Jesse’s efforts, and Hanzo brushed down the stubble on his jaw. The wolf’s growls lowered to a grunt, pacing around like an animal waiting to burst from the cage it had been released from and brutally shoved back into without warning. Jesse held open the door, feeling the fur grow and his nails sharpen; it was enough to placate the beast, just as he’d been taught.

“Let me handle this, Jesse.” Hanzo’s other hand rested on his burner, pulling it up to his chest as quiet earning filled him. “Focus on your family.”

“Thanks, Han,” He whispered, returning to his half-typed message and ignoring the unsettling weight on his heart pressing down too hard to beat. He trusted Hanzo, and the wolf would have to as well. That was all it was, it had to be.

Nonetheless, the heaviness stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GO RE-READ CHAPTER 3, IT'S BEEN UPDATED WITH RETRIBUTION LORE!
> 
> *Kicks the fandom's homophobic Sojiro headcanon into the trash where it belongs*
> 
> Next chapter should be up soon if all goes well with my fanzine project. That chapter will include the special cameo I promised for this chapter! Keep your comments, kudos and bookmarks (holy moly over 200 subs!!) coming; let me know what you thought of the chapter!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	14. A Mirror Reflecting Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanzine business and my dying grandmother have kept this chapter from seeing completion, but it's finally here!
> 
> Super thanks to my beta, my friends, and all you wonderful readers who have been supporting me and this fic. It means so much to me that you like this story and I'm always re-reading comments to motivate my writing!
> 
> This was a super ambitious chapter and it contains some of my favourite scenes of the fic, so I hope y'all enjoy it~

A transatlantic cruise liner was the last place on Earth Jesse thought he’d ever find himself, mostly because he wasn’t a retired sixty-something school teacher with too much time and money to spend on land alone. He certainly never thought he’d spend a _full moon_ on one, nor that Hanzo would’ve been the one to arrange it.

Jesse had his misgivings - how could he not? - but Hanzo assured him all was well. They would be on international waters, away from any authority who could put them away (or worse); if Jesse never expected himself to be here, then no one else did either; the more relaxed security compared to air travel gave them a better chance of escape if the need arose. They had a large room all to themselves without any in-house servicing, so there was no chance of being disturbed while Jesse went through the shift. Even if he got antsy and predatory, Hanzo would be there to control the situation and keep him away from the unsuspecting crowds.

(Huh, control. What a funny word.

Why did it resonate with him so?)

“I wouldn’t put us here if I didn’t trust your ability,” Hanzo told him as he handed him his fake passport, voice hushed for his ears alone amongst the throng of people on the docks. His hair was down, doing the bare minimum of covering his face from anyone looking too closely, and he had nothing to cover the white with. He was still wearing his serape as a scarf, swapping out its faded blood and spiced smoke for the finest dollar store deodorant and strong petrichor. The red, truly, did not suit him but Jesse didn’t have the heart to take it back. Yet, anyway; he had an aesthetic to keep up afterall!

Jesse hugged him from behind and kissed down his neck, smirking to himself at the spots Hanzo tensed and shivered in his blood. He’d be saving _that_ for later. He dug his fingers into the meat of Hanzo’s firm muscles, relishing in the flush of heat—

“Jesse, please tell me your passport doesn’t say what I think it says.” Hanzo said, voice strained with an emotion Jesse couldn’t decipher. He glanced up from the crook of Hanzo’s neck and saw his passport in clear view, angled for better reading by Hanzo as he leaned in with narrowed eyes, like that would change the name printed on it.

Jesse handed him the passport properly and idly watched him as he turned it around, flipped through and even rubbed his thumbs against the words. He sighed and kissed Hanzo again, just below his ear.

“It’s an ol’ undercover name I’ve kept with me,” He hummed, breathing deeply. Copper, mint, a hint of sandalwood; it brought back memories. “‘S done me a lotta good.”

“ _‘Mario Boyardee’_ has done you a lot of good?” Hanzo asked, incredulous in every word. He turned his head to shoot Jesse a look that screamed ‘what the actual fuck?’ and he shrugged back.

“Jesse, this is the most fake name I’ve ever seen!” Only Hanzo’s strength of will stopped him from outright shouting instead of harsh whispering. “I’m not Italian and **_I’m_ ** offended.”

“Hey hey,” Jesse stood straight, hands on hips and frowning. Not like he could say the same; ‘Han Serizawa’ was uncreative but nothing he could poke holes in otherwise. “I put hard work int’ this—”

“No you did not.” Hanzo shot back, turning around to face him fully and wildly gesturing with his hands. “How the hell were you not called out on stealing a name from a can of _pasta_?”

Jesse shoved away the flashbacks of Jefe’s defeated sigh and Moira’s attempts at teaching him the Italian accent (which he didn’t even need in the end; the spaghetti westerns taught him well enough), and shook his head, held high. He took his passport back and shoved it into his pocket, smoothing down his chaps. He eased the smile onto his face and threw his boyfriend a wink.

“I was undercover as a waiter fer two weeks in Naples ‘n’ no one took issue with my name.”

“To your face.” Hanzo rose an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms. But there was a smile trying to break through his hold, and Jesse counted that as a win. “Still, you only lasted two weeks with it.”

“I only got fired—” Hanzo’s smirk came through, smug and righteous. “—’cause a lady was bein’ outright rude and I gave her a piece of my mind.”

“Really?” Hanzo laughed and took Jesse’s arm in his, pulling them further into the crowd. “That is why?”

“The honest truth, I swear on my grave.” He held a hand over his heart as Hanzo laughed again, a deep sound that brightened his cheeks and vibrated down to the bone. Jesse knew he’d never stop loving that laugh, in any shape or form.

They meandered through the people, side by side at a pace that betrayed their urgency to leave solid ground. Jesse quickly scanned over the crowd, found no one watching them, and put all his attention back on Hanzo. The archer’s eyes were flashing gold as he spoke inwardly to his spirits and suddenly they were on him, warm, benign and pleased in a way that made Jesse hang on to his every word.

“If you kept that job for two weeks despite that ridiculous—” Hanzo poked the thigh his passport rested against. “—name, you must be more skilled than I can imagine.”

Jesse fought against himself - the urge to duck his head into his collar; against the paranoid wolf pacing; the voices that told him monsters didn’t _deserve this_ \- and smiled back, even as his skin crawled and he felt the fur begin to grow in. “Ya better believe it, darlin’.”

“I do,” Hanzo squeezed his arm and pulled him along, smirking to himself. “Let’s get onboard and find something to eat before we go to our room. I’ll make sure you have an actual meal, cowboy.”

Jesse laughed again and followed along, pushing back as the wolf pressed against the cage, its growls and snaps twisting Hanzo’s words into a new form. He refused to listen, wanting nothing more than to bask in the comfort Hanzo provided, even as his instinct told him to _fight_ , to **_lead_** _—_

He’d wanted this, asked Hanzo for the chance back in the middle of the Mexican wilderness. What was making it so hard for all sides of him to accept this change to the pack?

(He couldn’t ignore how Hanzo’s voice whispered those ugly words to him:

“ _You owe me_.”)

 

**0XX0**

 

The inside of the ship was a bonanza Jesse was not prepared for. It wasn’t the Ritz or anything close, but ‘cruise liner’ had always brought up images of shuffleboard, singing lounges and a deck full of wrinkly white sunbathers - not the Mall Of America on Ice. Or seawater, in their case.

He and Hanzo stuck out like the sorest of thumbs, yet no one paid them any mind, instead herding towards flashy stores and vendors that caught their eye. Jesse recognised a few brands, but most were definitely aimed at those from before his time. He didn’t feel a huge urge to check any of them, just a stab of curiosity really. The only place he wanted to be right now was their booked room.

Hanzo, however, was in a completely different state of mind. He had a far away look in his eyes, the brown shining with memories and thoughts Jesse was not privy to. He didn’t pry; this kind of sparkle and glamour were part of his old life, he was probably reliving those times. He’d pull him out if it went south, but for now there was no harm in revisiting a part of the past (God knows he does it enough).

After dragging his boyfriend away from a _far_ too expensive restaurant (“Honeybee, ya ain’t exactly rakin’ it in anymore. Budget, please.”, “Sorry, I… I forgot where I was.”), Jesse ventured off on his own to scout out emergency exits to the lifeboats, stocked up on personal supplies like shaving cream and what he’d need if he got Hanzo into bed on this trip, and brought a pair of chai lattes from a kiosk he passed. Hanzo couldn’t argue about the caffeine this time; Jesse distinctly remembered the texts where the archer spun ridiculous prose about the ‘heavenly brew’, much to his amusement. If he couldn’t get the cake, he could at least do this for him.

( _Lead, fight, provide._

_You can’t trust anybody, McCree!_

_‘Shut the hell up, Reyes. All of you.’_ )

He met back up with Hanzo outside the tennis courts (how big was this boat?!) with their goods and made the trade off - one drink for one large takeout box that smelt absolutely _delectable, delicious,_ **_divine—_ **

Jesse inhaled deeply and moaned, gripping the box tightly as he pressed his nose against it. Sharp spices and sauces filtered through, overflowing his senses, making his mouth water, and stomach gurgle. Pepper, paprika, garlic powder, thyme, cream cheese, a dash of cayenne…

A real meal indeed.

“Two well done steaks prepared ‘Cajun style’ according to the chef,” Hanzo said as he puffed his chest and watched Jesse drool like a pup out in the desert. “I know you like yours medium rare, but it was quicker to take these.”

“How _did_ ya get these so fast?” Jesse’s head snapped up and he tucked the box under his arm carefully. He sipped at his latte, savouring the taste. Hanzo had a good judgement of drinks. “We were only apart for, what, twen’y minutes?”

Hanzo’s smirk grew as he sidled up to Jesse, wicked and too pleased with himself; the same face he made after telling another horrible joke that made Jesse chortle.

“I may have told them I wanted to get a special dinner for my boyfriend,” He chuckled and cleared his throat, putting on the flattest, almost _campy_ American accent Jesse had ever heard: “It’s our first Christmas together and I want to make it special, he means so much to me! He’s a real Southern gentleman, and he loves a good steak just like his mother used to make for him—”

Jesse bumped him with his hip and bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from doubling over and laughing into a ball on the floor. His shoulders shook as he snorted and wheezed, cursing with every breath he could grab.

“Holy - shit! O-Oh, my… Jes-us C-Christ!” He coughed and wheezed more, taking deep breaths until the pain in his sides subsided and his lungs weren’t aching. Hanzo stood next to him, sipping from his drink, bemused, thoughtful, and that same smirk present. “H-Han, _please_ tell me y’ used that voice ‘n’ they believed you!”

“Yes they did, _Mario_.”

Jesse shot up straight and glared, pursing his lips. Hanzo rose his eyebrows at him, that smirk never leaving. A challenge, if he ever saw one, and from his own pack too! He had to give it to him: Hanzo never let an opportunity slip by.

“Touché.”

Jesse gulped down his drink, relishing the burn as an excuse to slip away from his mate’s suffocating haughtiness. His younger self deserved it but Hanzo didn’t have to be such a smartass about it. He felt as if they should be over in Poland instead of the Atlantic ocean, but they were past that point, had been for months now. Then why did it feel so?

What had turned back the clock?

(So many new questions and no answers to calm any part of him.)

“Come on, Jesse.” Hanzo walked ahead, everything held high and coiled to strike at any moment. A good position to be in while they were in uncharted territory, but as Jesse followed Hanzo through the crowds out on deck, he stared at his shoulder blades.

How hunched they were, how tight and stiff they set the whole of him through his jacket. He emanated an aura of arrogance, almost careless in its execution, but the reality was coming through faster than the archer could confine it. Jesse could only guess how his gaze was darting around, marking every person as an enemy. Not _potential_ foes; there was no question about it in his judgement.

Jesse dumped his tea in a passing trash can and reached out, the wolf howling to comfort - to fix his pack. He pressed his fingers into the muscles between his shoulder blades, feeling the knots forming under his touch. He rubbed his thumb in small circles, even as Hanzo frowned at him over his shoulder.

“D’ya know how tense you are, honey? Yer like a rattler ready t’ bite.” Jesse applied pressure to the knots, smile faltering as Hanzo blinked and shuddered.

“I…didn’t notice. Thank you.” Hanzo loosened himself, lowering his shoulders and relaxing before walking out of Jesse’s contact. He seemed to breathe easier, face not so rigid bathed in the red of Jesse’s serape. His eyes flashed gold and his brow eased; whatever the wolves said, it did the trick.

They walked on in silence into the ship’s innards, weaving around people like silent thieves in the night, and Jesse kept a step behind Hanzo to watch their six. Eyes and ears on every crack, every whisper, it kept the wolf at bay to guard his pack and in turn made it easier to recline himself. Hell, maybe they could actually enjoy some of this cruise once the full moon passed.

They arrived at their room with little fanfare, just glad to have their own private space. True to Hanzo’s word, it was a large family room with more than enough space to accommodate his wolf form. Not enough to move around as freely as he usually did, but they would make due. Jesse had spent enough full moons in crowded basements and bunkers to know what to do with himself.

As Hanzo organised the room more to their liking and checked for any bugs, Jesse took the moment to tuck himself away in an armchair and check his messages. Opening his history with Fareeha, he saw his text to pass along to Ana had been left unread. He sighed, trying not to let disappointment or worry well up in his heart; it wasn’t outside of the norm for Fareeha to ignore messages for weeks before getting back to him, but with Ana involved… He didn’t want to think of what she was going through, thinking him dead.

The more bitter part of him called it sweet payback for her letting him and Fareeha think _she_ was dead for months. Ana finally got a taste of her own medicine and it was sour.

No, he couldn’t think like that. Not when he was already struggling on the tightrope in his mind; the wolf would take advantage, lash out and ruin their carefully laid plans. He had to stay in control, especially now.

Jesse let out a breathe and felt the fur grow in, his claws sharpen, his skin ripple. Slow and steady, slow and steady…

Mantra in his head and nervous ticks surfacing, Jesse put his phone down and took in the room. It was nothing remarkable from his experience of hotels and safehouses. If not for the constant rocking of the ocean, he would’ve thought they were in a hostel on the coast of Portugal or something. Four white walls and an old carpet that looked like a toddler splashed around way too much paint, with three beds pushed together to make one courtesy of Hanzo, a table and chairs opposite him, a bathroom hidden away in the corner, and a holo-TV taking up a wall overlooking the beds.

Nothing meant to be lived in for more than a night at a time. With both of them on task, they’d be fine holed up for the next few days. Hanzo was more than capable of handling his other form. Jesse only wondered if he himself would come out the other side unscathed, still human and worthy of Hanzo’s respect. He still had no idea how to deal with the wolf’s dominance, alpha, whatever-the-shit issue and the last thing he needed was for his boyfriend to face that head on without warning.

Hearing Reyes before cemented where it was coming from: old lessons and habits coming back to trip up his life away from them. They’d barely bothered him before, only lapping at his ankles when he dared to open himself more to Hanzo back at the cabin.

But now they were something entirely new, opening doors once thought to be closed forever. Being in a relationship meant being more than trusting friends, a promise Jesse had made and intended to keep as a man of his word. Why was Jefe holding him back from beyond the grave? Hadn’t Gabe taken enough from him?

Jefe. He was Jefe. That was all he was, all he _ever_ had been.

If only he knew how to fucking get rid of him.

“You need to eat before the food gets cold.” Hanzo’s hand on his shoulder pulled Jesse up from his seat and over to the table, where their boxes were opened as plates and cutlery was set out from God knows where. Probably swiped from an unsuspecting table not paying attention to the silverware.

They sat at the table, boots taken off at Hanzo’s request, and eagerly dug into their meals after a muttering of “itadakimasu”. The warmth and scents hit Jesse at full force, the sharp spices burning his lungs, the underlying smoke lingering on his tongue before he even took a bite. He let himself drown in the juicy, savoury aroma and tastes of his finest meal of the year. Hell, maybe of the decade.

Jesse spared Hanzo a glance as he chewed and the sight made him stutter, smile flattening to a thin line. Hanzo was staring down at his food as he ate, frown deep and the crease of his brow adding years to his face. His markings were lifeless, no gold even flashing in his eyes, and worst of all: the tension was filling his shoulders once more. His back was as straight as a rod and just as stiff, despite their guaranteed privacy; presenting for an audience that was nowhere to be found.

Jesse perked his ears up and looked under the table. Iwanko and Hachiko weren’t out either.

His gaze drifted back to Hanzo and his mind wandered. In Val’s shop, he’d effortlessly taken on the commanding aura of the oyabun role he’d been born into, taking over the space and leaving no room for answers he didn’t like. But now… was Jesse seeing the real show of a broken-in clan leader?

“Han?” He asked, tone teetering on the edge of overly cautious. Hanzo tilted his head up to face him, features softening slightly.

“Is something wrong with your food?” Hanzo asked back, settling his cutlery down. “I can get you something else—”

His voice twisted to _those words_ again and Jesse bit them back, shackled down the wolf that demanded authority, control of the room. He shook his head and smiled, as strained as it was under all the effort.

“Food’s great, sweetheart,” Hanzo’s eyes narrowed on the twitch of his lip, far too calculated. “I’m just… are you alright? You’ve gotten wound up again an’ ya ain’t let Iwanko and Hachi out.”

Hanzo’s hand gripped his tattooed forearm, the golden glow sparking under his skin like an oncoming storm, and his face fell, expression unreadable. Jesse watched, grip tightening around his fork.

“I’m fine, Jesse. There’s no need for concern,” Hanzo’s answer was clipped and his face unchanged. Jesse frowned and clicked his metal fingers against the table, still watching and studying. Hanzo gave nothing away as the air grew cold.

“Y’ sure, darli—”

Hanzo snapped a string of Japanese too quickly for Jesse to catch, leaving him taken aback with his mouth hanging open as he processed the sudden turn. While part of him was absolutely bewildered, the rest of him was focused on Hanzo again as fear dawned upon him and his eyes flashed gold.

“Jesse, I…” His voice cracked and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips curled down and the years fled his face, making the dark shadows under his eyes all the more obvious. How had Jesse missed them?

“I-I’m sorry, that was out of line. I don’t know…” Hanzo started again, flexing his fingers and avoiding Jesse’s gaze.

Jesse dropped his fork and grabbed Hanzo’s hand with his own, feeling the lines of electricity crawl up to his chest as he squeezed tightly. His claws pressed into the flesh and Hanzo squeezed back, finally meeting him. The wolf howled as it burst out of the cage, running to its freedom as Jesse stood up over his mate and pulled his hand up to gently kiss his knuckles; caring for the pack as he should.

“Cariño, yer safe here.” He adjusted the serape still around Hanzo’s neck, smiling as he breathed in his scents clinging to the fabric. He stroked his thumb over Hanzo’s cheek, holding the voices and instincts at bay to concentrate on the facts presenting themselves to him. “I know last time ya had somethin’ like this, you were king o’ the world. Ya just slipped back into it, is all.”

Maybe reliving part of the past wasn’t as harmless as he thought.

Hanzo’s eyes widened and his features relaxed, following his shoulders as a fog left him. He nodded and sat back in his chair, unfolding the serape to drape it over his shoulders instead. Jesse stepped back, warmth growing in his chest once more after too long.

“But don’t snap at me like that again, Hanzo.” He said as he sat back down, staring at Hanzo. “I don’t ‘preciate it none.”

Hanzo smiled, his crow’s feet crinkling. “I don’t plan to.”

“An’ you can talk to me too. I’ll always listen.”

“I know, Jesse.”

As Jesse got back into his meal and allowed more fur to grow in, sharpening his fangs and muscles shifting form at glacial pace, he let go of his worries. They stumbled and tripped, and got back up again, keeping the pack strong. Jesse had his own issues to work through, and he would soon enough once he didn’t have a moon looming over him.

For now, they were fine.

 

**0XX0**

 

The next few days and nights of the full moon were strange, to say the least. With himself out of his head and all focus back on Jesse, Hanzo took notice of his strange behaviour and how settled it was in the small movements. How the gunslinger’s critical gaze dug too deep, the inconsistent growth of his fur, claws and everything else throughout the daylight hours, the back and forth of his golden eyes when he lingered in his head…

If Hanzo had just _paid attention_ , he would know how to help; what unspeakable poison ailed his mate. No, instead he’d lost himself to the past, a version of him he thought he’d thrown away along with his name years ago. He’d treated Jesse as if he were one of his underlings, a body for him to control to his whim, and that very thought brought bile to his throat. Jesse was far more than that and needed to be treated as such.

The clan **_had_ ** to be behind him. A leader, no more. Not when he’d been the one to make it all fall apart.

So absorbed in himself, he’d missed the signs of Jesse’s silent lies, and of course only realised it at the worst possible time. It wouldn’t be fit to have a proper conversation about this until the full moon had passed.

Hanzo bided his time throughout the days, taking advantage of Jesse’s exhausted state in the sun to get a few hours of sleep himself, all while trying not to drown in the mess that was his mind. Iwanko and Hachiko had hardly spoken a direct word to him since the dinner, but he could feel their simmering anger and disappointment in him. Not since his father’s death had he shut them out and wired them silent; they were supposed to be synchronised, one mind and one body together suffering through the kami’s punishment.

Worse than treating Jesse poorly, Hanzo had dismissed his closest companions as the tools he’d foolishly believed them to be when he was a young and corrupted scion. It was a step in the most disastrous direction, and he didn’t know where to start on apologising to them.

For the time being, however, Hanzo dedicated himself to getting Jesse through what was obviously going to be a rough full moon cycle. When they weren’t sleeping in the day, Jesse shifted to his half-way form and acted more-or-less like his usual human self, if with less zeal for life and too many yawns. He stared at the holo-TV for hours while curled up on their pile of blankets and pillows of a bed, ears perking up whenever something interesting was said on-screen, while Hanzo busied himself in his tablet re-reading his favourite novels and listening to the waves lapping against the ship’s hull.

(Despite everything, this was honestly the most relaxing environment Hanzo had been in since the cabin.)

In the first night, the cracking of bones and low groans put Hanzo on high alert and within arms reach of Stormbow at all times. Not that he could shoot anything, or that he thought Jesse could hurt him, but it was better than leaving himself undefended.

The wolf before him switched from animal to three legged man without notice, going from snarling and biting to docile and comforting at any given time. In either mind, he still recognised Hanzo and what they were, staying close to him and curling into his space with a nip to his bare wrist. Nothing that would leave a mark, just a reminder of who had the advantage under the moon’s hunger.

(He wasn’t correct, but the middle of a crowded ship was the last place Hanzo wanted to start a battle of dominance with his mate, so he wasn’t going to argue against it.)

By the second night, the wolf had calmed from frothing to overprotective. He was loathe to let Hanzo out of his sight, even for a bathroom break, and insisted on bringing food and water to him when his stomach so much as gurgled. It would be endearing if Hanzo couldn’t feel the control over his own life literally slip between his fingers. It was for something so minute, yet…

Didn’t _they_ do the same?

When they woke up on the third afternoon, Hanzo pulled Jesse to him in the middle of the room, nowhere to corner or follow, and asked him upfront:

“What the hell is this all about? I don’t need you shadowing me.”

Jesse’s sluggish mind turned its gears as he tilted his head to the side, flopping an ear over as if he were a puppy and not a hulking eight foot tall wolf-man. Hanzo was too annoyed to fall for the charm.

Jesse worked his lips over his muzzle and fangs, stepping forward. His browns were half-lidded, scanning over Hanzo as he lifted his stump arm to the serape still draped over him, only to pull back when he saw his prosthetic wasn’t attached.

“Cariño…” Jesse’s voice was barely there, a breath on the wind mixed with growls and whines, as if he were gargling glass and sand. “Care fer… pack. A’pha too.”

Alpha? Hanzo frowned, blinking slowly as his hands fell to his sides. “You were serious about that? I thought you were trying to flirt.”

Jesse shook his head slowly, long locks of fur and hair over his eyes, and puffed out his chest as his black lips quirked in some attempt of a smile. “Care fer _pack, mate_.”

He poked a claw at Hanzo, then brushed against his cheek, the soft look misplaced on his half-formed face that was neither here nor there. Not Jesse, yet nothing but him; a not-so-perfect mixture of the two worlds they shared. In any other situation, he would give himself the time to be poetic about it, but not today.

Hanzo stood his ground and sighed through his nose as Jesse pressed his muzzle against his forehead, the cold of his wet nose sending a shiver throughout. A clawed hand pulled the serape tighter around his shoulders, drawing in the warmth. The caring touch of an alpha, one he would have given had Jesse been in his place.

One he would have given mere days ago as a show of his position and power, pretending it was otherwise. Their natures had fooled them both, and Jesse had been trying to fight back. No wonder he had been acting out of place, not telling Hanzo anything.

(How could he disappoint the one who had taught him control? To gain that and lose it once he became a mate, not just merely pack?

Men like them weren’t accustomed to openly baring their shame, even if it leaked through the cracks too easily most days.)

This was not the time to overthink their situation. The full moon’s hunger came first, no matter how much he yearned to put their emotional troubles behind them.

Couldn’t they have stayed in Peru forever, forget the lives they’d run from and live in the ignorant bliss they cherished in the chase for their happiness? Couldn’t they live outside of reality, just for one moment longer?

No, his honour wouldn’t have allowed for that. His duty to Genji would drag him back to the field, and Jesse’s sworn vow to dispense justice would do the same to him. Simple men for a simple life, they could never be.

(A small part of him mourned, but a far more insistent thought reminded him this chaotic life brought them together.

He didn’t regret that. Never.)

Right now, more than anything, Hanzo wished for guidance and familiar voices crowding the front of his mind. Whispers greeted his thoughts, conversations between brother and sister he prefered to ignore when he could. They stayed as far from him as he could, only sparing a glance or a prod at him when he was busy elsewhere.

Hanzo leaned back and kissed Jesse, a quick brush of lips that promised more once this tenuous phase was over and done with. He ran his hand under Jesse’s chin, digging his nails into the thick skin.

“We will have a talk about this once the moon has passed.”

Jesse’s ears flattened against his head and a growl rumbled in his throat but quickly died as he shook his head, eyes flashing a dim yellow, and fitted his head under Hanzo’s chin. He scented along his jaw, breathe bristling the beard wayward, but Hanzo didn’t miss the way he tensed and shifted on his paws, as if he were about to tear himself away; forcing himself to stay.

Hanzo never thought there to be two versions of a person in a werewolf, despite what popular folklore led the masses to believe - you were a human _and_ a wolf, not one over the other. The animalistic side of the coin was simply strengthened instincts given a form all of their own. Yet, as Hanzo felt the fight under his fingertips, he couldn’t help but wonder what the wolf was doing.

By the next day, the holo-TV channels became repetitive and too cumbersome to hold anyone’s attention, so Hanzo went out to scour the stores for measly entertainment. He returned with a treasure trove of puzzle books: Yajilin, Kakuro, Sudoku and Shikaku galore, with books of crosswords thrown in for variety. He spread them out over the bed, moving around Jesse’s listless form (more wolf now than man, a temporary feature after days of the full moon), and relaxed himself into the pillows as he started on a book.

He was on the third Sudoku puzzle when Jesse wormed his way onto his lap, peering down at the book. Hanzo paid him no heed, mindlessly scratching behind his ear and twitching his lip up as the wolf-man leaned into the touch. Jesse tapped his paw against his thigh and pressed his black nose on the paper, growling a rough noise that could almost be speech.

“Yes, Jesse?” More taps and a low whine. Hanzo raised an eyebrow, drumming his pen against Jesse’s forehead. “Do you need something to eat?”

A too-human groan and a shake of the head, the paw tapping slowing down as Jesse stared him in the eye. Hanzo put his pen down as the words filtered through to him.

Ah, Code.

“Third row down, five across. Answer is 6.” Jesse tapped, laying his head down and perking his ears up.

Hanzo scrunched his face and looked at the numbers, checking them over. Sure enough, it was 6. He hummed and scratched it down, smirking at a smug Jesse.

“I thought you liked crosswords,” Hanzo huffed, writing down more numbers even as Jesse licked at his fingers. He poked his nose with his pen. “I brought you some books.”

Jesse nuzzled his stomach and barked into his shirt, curling up and tapping again. “I like all kinds of puzzles.”

Hanzo chuckled under his breath and shook his head, wondering how he was only learning this about him _now_. The more you know, and so forth.

“Do you want to help me finish these?”

Jesse barked loud enough to clearly convey his answer and Hanzo smiled, sharp and full of mirth. He ruffled his mate’s fur, running his fingers through the soft strands mixing fur with hair, then sat up. Jesse went up with him, tucking his half-formed hind legs underneath, and thumped his tail against the mattress.

A day of puzzles and coded endearments at Hanzo’s expense ended only when the moon brightened, shifting Jesse into full lupin form and returning his mind to its struggle. Flashes of gold and low growls warned Hanzo to the wolf’s presence, so he would remove himself and placate Jesse with strips of jerky until he was in full control again. Silence rang out in their space, in and out, so Hanzo busied himself with cleaning his armour and pelt.

He made a change of clothes while gathering his supplies, turning his back on the pile of clothes and serape for just a moment, and came back to a happy werewolf burying himself under it all. Hanzo let him be and languished in his own head, going through the motions of cleaning his armour at the meager table.

3 days of nothing and he was sure he was losing his mind.

(Maybe someone would find it funny that the one thing that had caused him so much grief years ago was now something he found himself unable to live without.)

‘ _I don’t know how to fix this,’_ he thought to the void. ‘ _What do I have to say to you_?’

Their voices, barely whispers, brushed against him in a rush he fought to capture and hold close. Words were all he caught; _sorry, broken words, mistakes, we’re a_ team _, together, alone…_

_Don’t go where we can’t follow._

Hanzo paused in his motion and blinked slowly, running that plea over and over. The forlorn cry mixed their voices into one, a distant callback to the Okami’s own command over its kind, but it was too somber and heartbroken to be the howl of a proud god; too wise to be the sob of its children. It was something entirely theirs, and it made the cracks in his heart grow tenfold, his eyes burn with tears that were not his own.

He grasped at his chest and clenched his jaw, breathing through his teeth and willing his chest not to close up. Everything around him - the sea, the moonlight, the wolf - all faded away to a hum, to a mere non-existence. None of it mattered in this moment, where the truth opened up to him in earnest.

He knew he’d been wrong to treat them as he had, as tools fit only for his purpose and will. They were much more than that, had always been so, but he’d also shut out his spirits from the life they had forged together in the past nine years. Broken the vow made years ago in the Russian autumn; they were together in everything for the rest of their days. Nothing would ever separate them or keep them apart.

Except _him_.

Hanzo had done what they promised no one would ever do to them.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, quiet enough he could hardly hear himself over the nauseous churning of his stomach. “I didn’t mean…”

Nothing.

They twisted in his mind, watching. Silent.

“I’ve never wanted to hurt you. You have to believe me, _please…_ ”

They brushed against him, quiet but warm and spreading up his tattooed arm. His face glowed and he couldn’t help the shaky smile that graced his lips.

“I’m so sorry.”

He felt them under his skin, their thunder rolling and prodding. He lifted his marked arm and released the barrier, feeling them form into the mortal plane. He hung his head low, staring down at his lap. He could feel the sins crawling on his back.

Two white paws came into sight and Hanzo froze, swallowing past the bile building up. A cold nose pressed into his loose hair and be braved a glance upwards.

Hachiko sat in front of him, alone, and towering over him in her half-celestial figure. Ethereal white and red flames flickered from her fur and her mighty fangs grew past her lips, downturned and thoughtful. The golden markings shimmered, her eyes were impossibly bright and as sharp as the blade he once wielded. They shot through him, but he couldn’t move away.

There was no escape from her judgement.

 _You broke your word_ , she said. Iwanko hummed in agreement somewhere in the room; he couldn’t see him with Hachiko taking up every ounce of his focus.

“I know,” Hanzo nodded, pressing his nails into his palms just to feel this was real.

 _It_ **hurt** _, more than anything we’ve felt before_ , Hachiko shook her head and shifted closer to leave hardly any room between spirit and master. _We… I needed space from you. Until you learnt that your actions affect more than just yourself._

The truth was a hard pill to swallow and especially now, Hanzo could feel it. He nodded again.

“What I did to you both, I don’t expect forgiveness—” A low growl cut him off and he sat up, muscles tensing and tattoos shining brighter.

Hachiko pressed her forehead to his, staring deep into his eyes and piercing him further than she could in his own head.

 _You are mine. Mine to me, no matter where you go or what you do,_ Her voice cracked and she closed her eyes, nuzzling into him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, fingers curling around the fire and fur, unable to look away. _You will always be mine._

“I don’t deserve it.” He mumbled into her, breathing slowly and shuddering as the pure feeling of maternal love washed over his doubts. She swept them away, and Iwanko came around them. He clawed and kept them at bay, protecting and nurturing what little was left behind in its wake. He closed his eyes and fell into their offered warmth.

_It doesn’t matter._

_You are ours._

_And always will be._

_You’re stuck with us for good, Master._

The watery laugh burst forth and the remaining darkness crumbled away like battered rocks into the sea. They curled around him, leaving no inch of him cold, and he tightened his grip. Too afraid to let go, too relieved to step away from the white. He felt eyes on him and a gap in the comfort let him look out to the rest of the room, where Jesse still lay among his clothes, watching them with an unreadable, brown gaze from the cover of his serape.

Hanzo sent him a quick smile, all he could manage in this moment, and caught a flicker of affection from his mate before he was engulfed again.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, a minute or an hour, but the next thing he knew, he was waking up with the sunlight of the final day over his face and a contented wolf-man sprawled over him in lieu of a blanket. Jesse had shifted to something more human-like in the last few hours, spots of brown skin showing through the thinnest patches of fur while his limbs were humanoid enough for him to reattach his prosthetic.

Jesse’s muzzle was tucked into the crook of Hanzo’s neck, arms wrapped around him and legs tangled in his and the abandoned comforter. With his closed eyes and shallow breathing, he appeared deep in slumber brought on by the tiring dawn. The light nips and soothing tongue over his throat that had woken him up told Hanzo otherwise.

Hanzo groaned and shifted to stretch his legs, gently prying Jesse’s arms off him. He pushed back, claws digging in, but a hearty shove kept him off long enough for Hanzo to sit up on the pillows and rub his eyes. Jesse stayed close, muzzle moving to the other side of his neck as his movements brought attention to the fact that he hadn’t bothered to put any clothes back on yet. A sharp bite below his ear stirred hot interest below his gut and he moaned when Jesse’s own brushed against it.

Jesse slowly licked over the mark and his hands trailed down to the hem of Hanzo’s pants. He grabbed his wrists, flesh and metal, and held them in place as he caught his breath to dim down the red burning his chest.

“Not here,” he said, blowing a lock of hair out of his face and bringing Jesse’s hands to rest on his shoulders. “Wait until we’re at the cabin.”

Jesse growled and nuzzled down his neck, canines grazing over his heartbeat. Hanzo’s breath stuttered as claws tapped against his shoulder in code.

“Want you. Want mate.” He spelt out again and again, licking and nipping further down until Hanzo’s shirt became an obstacle. He nuzzled the fabric, growls and whines growing louder as his metal fingers gripped onto his shoulder.

Hanzo squared himself and brought a hand to Jesse’s cheek, tilted his face up to meet him proper. His eyes fluttered open and blown out pupils surrounded by gold greeted him. His gut tightened, not in fear - _never_ like that - but something more akin to… apprehension.

 _The Cub is growing possessive again,_ Hachiko murmured. His muscles relaxed and he exhaled, silently thankful. They were here; last night was real.

 _He has better control than this. There’s no reason for him to be like this,_ Iwanko rolled in the front of Hanzo’s mind, his familiar brand of skepticism dripping off each word. Hanzo welcomed it with open arms.

 _‘He’s simply taken his alpha comment too seriously,_ ’ Hanzo ran his fingers through Jesse’s hair, gently scratching his scalp to feel the wolf-man lean into it. _‘The full moon hasn’t helped matters.’_

_You are right, from a certain point of view._

_We feel there’s more than meets the eye here._

Hanzo hummed in his throat and put the thoughts aside, pulling his touch away—

An open snarl and a nip to his wrist, he yanked his arm away and flicked two fingers to Jesse’s black nose. He yelped and shot up, rubbing his nose, face screwed up and looking so _scandalised_ that Hanzo couldn’t help but stare.

And then laugh.

Hachiko started it, unable to hold back when she saw how his face twisted and snorted in a vain attempt to undo the discipline. Once she was going, Iwanko was soon to follow, and Hanzo fell shortly after. He flopped onto the bed and covered his face with his hands as his arm crackled with energy he hadn’t known he could miss (not that it helped stifle the laughter in any way).

God, it felt so good.

Once he was coherent enough to keep his mouth shut and sit up again, Hanzo dropped his hands and saw Jesse.

He was wide-eyed and slack, staring down at Hanzo with a shine to his now brown eyes and a lopsided grin that took years away from his calloused skin. On his muzzle, it shouldn’t have looked boyish and charming, yet Hanzo wanted to kiss it wider, never see it fade. It fit him so perfectly.

A tap to Hanzo’s shoulder brought his attention to their coded conversation, though he didn’t dare avert his gaze for a second.

“You’re happy,” Jesse tapped out, leaning in closer to bump their foreheads together and inhale deeply, chasing after the scent of kami spirits he craves. “Missed it on you.”

Hanzo closed his eyes once more and nuzzled into Jesse’s fur, holding him close. It was nearly enough to forget the world, their lives and responsibilities waiting for them outside this bed, but this respite was enough.

“I’m as close to happy as I can be,” He whispered in reply, rubbing his bearded cheek against Jesse’s and feeling the coarse hair pleasantly grind across sunburnt skin.

Jesse trilled and curled up to his marked side, soaking up the warmth of intimacy. “Good.”

 

**0XX0**

 

Jesse’s return to full human form came all too quickly (yet no soon enough - what a man of contradictions), but Hanzo was nonetheless prepared for the moment. No more waiting, no dancing around the bush; they had to bury this tension once and for all.

Hanzo finished tidying up their bed as Jesse stepped out of the bathroom, rolling his shoulders and sighing out his aches. He twisted his prosthetic wrist, tugged on his (always ridiculous) belt, and walked over to Hanzo with a wide smile. Without fangs and the golden eyes, he was a perfect picture of harmlessness ready to innocently spend the day with his boyfriend, but Hanzo knew better. It would take far more to turn Jesse McCree innocuous.

Hanzo turned to meet him and gladly welcomed the tight embrace. Despite having been alone with him in the suite for days, it now felt like he had Jesse back in his arms. Which was absurd, but no less true.

 _Aw, he missed his mate,_ Iwanko teased, his voice tilting into a song.

Hachiko laughed along with his and Hanzo growled, pulling away from their warm presence. But they persisted and stuck with him, as true to their word as they could be. As annoying as they could be, he wouldn’t trade his spirits for anything.

 _We love you too, Master,_ Hachiko curled around him, pressing against every corner of his mind. He returned it and sighed.

“Y’ give the best hugs, darlin’.” Jesse mumbled against his hair, his baritone rumbling down to Hanzo’s core.

Hanzo smirked and inhaled his smokey scent, one long gone from the serape he’d accumulated for many days. “I know I do.”

“I didn’ do anything in ‘ere, did I?” Jesse loosened his grip, but Hanzo didn’t move, instead gripping onto his shirt and sighing.

Here it was. The moment of truth.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t remember much, only bits ‘n’ pieces.” Jesse shifted, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. Hanzo could practically feel the anxiety thrumming through his veins. “Never had a cycle like this before.”

“You had trouble keeping control, but the worst thing you did was bite my wrist.” He pulled back enough to see Jesse’s face crumble, putting the pieces together in the incomplete jigsaw of the week.

“Oh shit.”

“You didn’t even leave a mark, it’s fine.” Hanzo stopped him from stepping bag, fingers digging into the meat of his back. He wouldn’t let him get away.

“But I still—”

“Oh, and you growled at me for going to the bathroom unattended several times.” Hanzo resisted rolling his eyes and smiling at the jest when Jesse’s eyes widened and he ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting around as he tried to collect the missing pieces of his memory.

“Fuck, I did that…?” He asked, voice barely a murmur.

“Yes.” Hanzo answered bluntly, running a hand over his mate’s back. “Do you remember what I told you the other day?”

Jesse stalled for a moment, looking down at Hanzo as he continued to search in his own head. Hanzo slowed in his rubbing, giving him space to do his thinking but not enough to leave. Iwanko and Hachiko prowled around the edges, on guard to defend their master.

“Something ‘bout talking?” Jesse shook his head, as if that would clear the fog left by the moon. “I… I told ya I had t’ take care of the pack…”

Not entirely a lost cause. Hanzo hummed in affirment and moved his hands to brace Jesse’s chest, closing his eyes as his heart skipped under his fingers. Sparks jumped over his arm as he splayed his hands over the broad muscle.

“Because you’re ‘an alpha’. I hadn’t realised you took that seriously.” Jesse stiffened and Hanzo looked up at him in time to catch a fleeting blush, called out with no chance of escape.

“Well, I…” Jesse floundered and bit his lip, gripping his head again. “The wolf does.”

“Same difference, Jesse.”

“Yer the one that started it all in Peru.” A blatant deflection if ever he saw one, an attempt to get away from the growing tension. Not that it would work.

 _He’s not wrong, Master,_ Hachiko stepped in, moving in closer to the forefront of his head to make herself loudly heard.

 _A slow decline is still a decline,_ Iwanko agreed, joining his sister.

_It doesn’t matter where it started; you’ve both been in the wrong._

Hanzo blinked and frowned, ducking his head so Jesse’s silent questioning couldn’t reach him. This had started long ago, before any warning sign could make itself known. Back then had been a vie for dominance, two independent forces clashing to be remade as one with little success, if this discussion was proof of anything.

_‘A lot more factors than anticipated were needed to be considered about this relationship.’_

_Sorry, Master._

_‘Don’t be, none of us have been in this position before.’_ He breathed in deeply and faced Jesse once more, iron steeling his stance and drawing from years of experience to speak without wavering. “You raise a good point. We both, unknowingly, reacted poorly to the shift in our dynamic.”

Jesse narrowed his eyes, expressing shifting until it stopped on a confused but accepting gaze, mouth thin but neither here nor there. He said nothing as his thoughts raced clearly across his eyes, calm and brown even with the moon still feeding him. They were too fast for Hanzo to read, but there was no mistaking the slow realisation crawling in, so he continued.

“As friends we each held complete control over our own lives, but when you’re involved with someone…”

“It all changes, yeah.” Jesse swallowed and held onto Hanzo’s arms, rubbing circles in with his thumbs, though he didn’t seem to notice it. He was quiet, but close, and Hanzo could hear nothing else. “I realised that, but I thought it was jus’ the wolf bein’ the wolf, tryin’ to be the dominant one ‘cause of Reyes. I was gonna sort myself out once this moon was over.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t come to blows over it,” He sighed, pushing such thoughts away. “Neither of us have experience on…”

He twisted his wrist, gesturing to nothing as he worked his jaw for the right words that wouldn’t come naturally. Jesse stayed with him, watching as he figured it out step by step.

“Relinquishing control to someone we care about is new, but we can learn.”

Jesse stopped moving his thumbs and swayed closer, almost hesitant. “An’ yer comfortable with that?”

Hanzo pursed his lips, holding his breath. A comfortable lie would make this better, transition them faster into what they wanted when they agreed to this.

“Not entirely. All I know is how to manipulate others into servitude, pulling their strings through carefully guided interactions so they would feel indebted to me.” He rested his head against Jesse’s throat as the truth came out, the next words struggling to make it past his lips.

“I did it to you without even thinking about it, and for that I deeply apologise.”

Jesse hugged him again, kissing the top of his head and nuzzling him gently wherever he could reach. Hanzo took it all and wrapped his arms around his neck, taking comfort where he could.

“Me too, Han. I… I was tryin’ to hold onto everythin’, the things yer supposed to compromise in a relationship, but I ended up trying t’ control _you_.” He slowly pried Hanzo out into the open, resting their foreheads together and smiling wistfully. “There’s a lot stupid shit we both gotta unlearn, huh?”

“Extremely stupid shit.” Hanzo smiled back and Jesse laughed.

“Thanks, Hanzo.” He kissed him, too brief and chaste to mean anything but a relief. Hanzo stopped himself from chasing as Jesse kept speaking.

“I know this kinda stuff is hard for ya to do, as prideful as you can be, so I really appreciate the effort, darlin’.”

“Prideful men can stand to lose once in a while; they have plenty to draw from.” Hanzo said, straining to keep his voice level and unaffected. “I am far more dangerous - I have little pride left, and I don’t easily let go.”

He stepped as close as he could, feeling Jesse’s sharp intake against his own chest, and dragged a hand over his throat to his jaw.

“I am a selfish man, Jesse McCree, and I don’t let go of the good things I find in life. I will do whatever it takes to keep you with me.”

“You want me…?” Jesse’s voice was somber, a skeptical edge to a seemingly innocent question. It was something he asked often, if not openly.

“In many, _many_ ways.” Hanzo firmly cupped his face and dragged him down into a searing, open kiss that melted all doubts away as soon as Jesse lifted him off his feet to return it.

 

**0XX0**

 

If Jesse ever got a second vacation, never again would he go on a cruise. Transatlantic, East coast, West, Caribbean - whatever. This shit was not happening again.

Days of watching folks play shuffleboard, avoiding the jazz lounge, and eyeing the open bar with hot envy got real old, real fast.

(Not the mention that he was sure several staff members onboard were escaped bounties of his.

He couldn’t confirm any of them, but he _knew_.)

Jesse knew Hanzo’s head had been in a different when he organised all this, but he thought his mate would have considered how unsuited they were for…this.

“I did,” Hanzo admitted while sunbathing on the empty upper deck. “I thought I still enjoyed this particular venue of relaxation. I was sorely mistaken.”

“We’re different people than we used t’ be.”

“More than we realise.”

Well, at least they agreed on that.

That wasn’t to say that Jesse was unhappy with their current state of affairs - far from it! He’d gotten a heartfelt apology and an outright confirmation of his feelings from Hanzo after the roughest moon cycle he’d ever known. He and Hanzo overcame another obstacle together, aired out their problems, and came out on top! Hanzo was _alive_ ; Iwanko and Hachiko were out and about again, happy as could be even if they were confined to explore small quarters instead of a whole ship. There was nothing wrong.

So why did it feel like they hadn’t moved on?

(Because you’re still on this dumbass boat, you idiota.

They needed to get back on land, to normality.)

Salvation came on their eighth day at sea, just off the coast of Spain and hours away from the first stop in France. Christmas was in full swing, songs and decorations flying everywhere in the small restaurant they were currently holed up in doing their best to avoid the mistletoe that was making their skin retreat back into their pores while eating the closest thing they could find to a Christmas cake.

“Huh.” Hanzo stared down at his burner phone, expression pulled back and flattened to nothing.

Jesse shifted in his seat, looking around them. They were isolated in their little abandoned corner booth; no one spared them a glance or an ear (yet).

He leaned over to Hanzo, lifting up his sunglasses and tapping the table in a mindless tune with his metal fingers. “What’s up?”

“A new message, from old colleagues.” Hanzo answered under his breath, lips hardly moving. Jesse followed suit, scratching at at his regrown beard to cover his mouth.

“How old?”

“Clan old.” **_Shit_ **.

Jesse rolled his shoulders and curled himself in to whisper. “How’d they find ya?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” He hissed and scrolled through his messages again. His brow creased and his frown hardened as he re-read and re-read. Jesse put a hand over his tensed up wrist.

Hanzo sighed through his nose and gritted his teeth, determined not to let anything show while people were everywhere. Even if they thought the two nothing but invisible, it was still too much to let the mask crack, to be the weak link in the chain. It would be improper.

Dishonourable.

(How much of their pasts had they really let go?)

(How much of the past had let go of _them_?

Goddamn Reyes.)

“Y’ tired, sweetpea?” Jesse raised his voice, enough to be plainly heard. Some heads turned away, nosy bastards.

Hanzo side-eyed him, put the phone away and nodded, taking Jesse’s sunglasses for himself for the walk back.

Once locked away in their suite once more, Hanzo dropped all pretenses and spilt everything to Jesse:

The Shimada had allies worldwide once upon a time, including a prominent family in the Italian family. Hanzo had taken jobs from them years ago when starting out (he had to, he had nowhere else to go, he had to feed himself) and since the clan pronounced him dead, he had used them to track down remaining Shimada elders from time to time until they uncovered his tactics. He hadn’t been in contact with any of them, until now.

“This means they still got Shimada connections, right?” Jesse rested himself against a wall, watching Hanzo march around the room.

“That’s the only way they would know I’m alive and active.”

“Even after Peru?”

Hanzo nodded and slowed his pace. “That threw them off my scent, but it would take nothing less than a miracle to get rid of them completely without a fight.”

That raised an eyebrow, and Jesse pushed himself off the wall. “So, what’s the fight?”

“They want a meeting with me, to discuss ‘business’,” Hanzo started, rolling his eyes and fighting back a smile. “A trap, obviously, but we know that. Instead, we will go to them, shoot them in the hearts, and show them they cannot prevail against us.”

 _Us_. What wonderful things that did to Jesse’s old, aching heart.

He moved over to Hanzo and stopped him in his tracks, thumbing over the glowing marks under his tired whiskey eyes. Hanzo melted into his touch, staring up at him with a hunger only satisfied by blood.

“Got a plan, sir?” Jesse asked, closing the gap between them to a hair’s width.

Hanzo’s resolve broken and the smirk curled into his skin, a thirst seen only in Jesse’s own reflection. For justice, retribution; the flash of fangs bringing forth an overdue reckoning.

They wouldn’t know what hit them.

 

**0XX0**

 

The meeting with the Carbonell family in Bologna was not for another 3 days after the cruise liner docked in Monaco, but Hanzo and Jesse left for the land early anyway just to feel something under their feet that didn’t rock with every turn of the wind. Away from the hustle and bustle, Iwanko and Hachiko happily leapt out of Hanzo’s skin and stretched their forms for as long as they wanted, chirruping to Jesse as they walked long-forgotten rural paths along the coastline towards Italy.

Hanzo lingered behind them, watching the blissful scene with a rare serenity. Their conversation filtered through his mind, parts taking hold and keeping him in the loop. Light bits of teasing, Iwanko laughing as Jesse flustered over his attempt to bed their master the night before, Hachiko groaning as she recalled the flirting shared just to rile the two spirits up. Like this, out of their disguises and back to themselves, heading to their first bloodbath in months, no longer were they hiding.

Everything was just how it should be.

Entering Italy itself was easy enough, as they stuck to the countryside and took time off their journey by using Hanzo’s wolf form to gallop over forest and fields in the night. They steered clear of people, of anyone who could alert the gangs of their arrival and allow them to prepare. Hanzo wasn’t sure if it would be enough, but considering what they were going up against, it was the most they could do without delaying.

Hanzo hadn’t faced off against any high-ranking Shimada clan since the Spring, yet the tight coil in his gut did not come. The anxiety of completing the job, surviving long enough to lick his wounds and escape the oncoming reinforcements coming for his head; none of it came. He was no longer alone, no longer blinded from the truth of the powers behind his work, and no more was he longing for the end he could not bring to himself.

He wanted to live through this, for himself and his pack. As small and broken as it was, it was still good, and it was theirs.

In Bologna, they set up base in an old Blackwatch safehouse Jesse assured him was safe to use (“Never went in the records an’ hardly got any use in the year ‘fore everything went to shit.”) and Hanzo directed him to the warehouse ruins where the meetup would take place to scout it out.

“They already got it guarded,” Jesse said upon his return. “Nothing I couldn’ slip by, but chances are it’s only gonna get heavier closer to the time.”

So, they stationed themselves in the dark corners of the crumbling building, waiting and watching. Sure enough, more patrols of armoured guards circled around, checking every exit and hiding spot. From their places atop the ceiling-high crates and behind broken walls, they saw them move by without a clue.

Soon enough, they were joined by official suits, Carbonell and Shimada alike. The remnants of the clan were hardly impressive (if Hanzo could recall, this was an uncle by marriage who had pushed his way into the circle of elders by virtue of having favour with his grandmother before she died), but in this alliance they were enough to give him pause to their tactics.

It was that pause in thought that brought their plan to ruin.

The glint of a loaded arrow in the outer night lights and Hanzo found himself ducking from a wave of bullets. A shout from below and it diverted, giving him the moment he needed to take the shot to the uncle he never remembered.

The body fell, an arrow clean through the eye, and Hanzo move again as the firing came back to his position. The familiar ring of Peacekeeper’s emptying barrel led him to Jesse, shooting down suits with such precision and skill that Hanzo wished he could fully appreciate it in the now.

But there were still bodies to shoot and messages to send, so Hanzo stayed aloft and gave him cover.

There was blood in the air and his wolves were hungry for more, sparking all over and snarling for release.

Jesse’s blood stained the ground and they turned _ravenous_.

They roared and Hanzo strained to see through the red, nearly missing the ground’s call for backup. Bodies were littering the floor and rubble, most downed by his arrows, and he was running out. It would be too much.

He could still smell Jesse’s blood, steadily growing stronger as the bullets flew from both sides. He couldn’t hear his deep voice, in cry or alarm. Sense told him his mate was securing his position, hiding as best as he could with limited cover.

Everything else told him to protect; to _feast_.

With more piling into the building and only one arrow left, it was his only choice.

He found Jesse, huddled behind a crate and bleeding from the neck and right eye, and dropped down in front of him. The words were on his lips before he could even think of them.

“ _Okami yo, waga teki wo kurae_!”

 

**0XX0**

 

Time stood still.

Jesse stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Hanzo’s marked arm _exploded_ with a golden white energy as soon as those words came out.

Giant wolves took form, rushing forward like fire and lightning. Their light filled the room, nearly blinding him. But he couldn’t turn away.

They left nothing behind.

The world came back in pieces. First was the ringing in his ears, then the pain in his eye. Everything else was a dull ache and he was sure he was speaking. He couldn’t hear it, not anything after that storm of chaos and massacre.

Hanzo was in front of him, pulling him onto his feet (when had he fallen back?) and blood was running from his mouth. His skin was hot to the touch and Jesse held on for dear life.

Outside was dark and ringing just as much as inside. Muscle memory kept him from tripping over his own feet and pressed a metal hand to the bleeding graze on his neck (why hadn’t it healed yet?).

They stumbled to a stop in an alley as noise returned, the screams of sirens all around, and Hanzo bent over to vomit. It came out dark red and an unblinking eyeball of an enemy stared up from the mess.

Jesse bit back his own bile and gripped Hanzo’s shoulder tightly. They were still here, still alive. Their enemies were not.

Hanzo groaned and cursed, resting his weight against Jesse. It was all he could do not to let his mate topple over as the new smells nearly overwhelmed him, and he spoke to him. He didn’t know what he said, but it was enough to stop Hanzo from shaking and retching. He stroked down the stained fur of his mate’s pelt (oh God it was everywhere, how was there _so much_ ) and stood them up for their hasty retreat.

Then his communicator buzzed.

Somehow, he didn’t drop Hanzo and through pure force of will, took out the Blackwatch communicator to answer the call.

He almost wished Reyes would call to scold him.

A far more welcoming voice greeted him, her warning tone warming his suddenly cold limbs and reminding him miracles did indeed happen. She berated him and he took it, just to listen to her speak and make the world a better place, just for that moment.

She was coming to them, a guardian angel to lift them up away from the dark.

The call ended and he blinked at the screen, unmoving until Hanzo’s grip tightened on him and forced him back to the burning, the acid, the blood his mate was vomiting that was not his own—

“Who was that?” Hanzo’s voice was weak but grounding. Enough for his own voice to finally reach his ears.

“Doctor Zieglar’s makin’ a home call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you enter a dedicated, intimate relationship with another person, you aren't just two people working together to make a life for yourselves. You BECOME one, in heart and mind, and getting to that point isn't easy for those who've never done it before.
> 
> Your comments are the best encouragement I could hope for with this fic, so please keep them coming! I love to know what y'all think of my work!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


	15. The Sinners And The Saints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last few weeks have been absolutely hectic, but the new chapter is here!
> 
> Super thanks to Autocon_21 for being the best beta, and to my friend Nini for typing up most of this chapter while I was recovering from several deaths in my family and travelling away from home.
> 
> There's a special poll at the end notes, please be sure to read over it and give your vote <3

Doctor Angela Ziegler —

Guardian angel. Unwavering pacifist. World-renowned medical genius extraordinaire.

Bearer of ancient grudges. Wielder of heaven’s righteous fury. Apostle of her personal crusade to save those who do not ask —

The absolute last person on Earth Jesse needed to show up on his doorstep tonight.

The good doctor was on her way to their safehouse and he was, more or less, breaking down over it. Strictly on the inside.

Outside, he was stiff as a board and speaking in low tones as Hanzo kept vomiting blood and other… _parts_ down their only toilet. He didn’t dwell on the gorey details of what the pipes were seeing, but it was hard to miss what looked like an ear go down the drain.

(What the actual fuck?!)

Sneaking back to the safehouse had certainly been a challenge, only made easier by Hachiko leading the way and Iwanko taking over Hanzo’s body to hurry them along. They skipped over fences, dodged patrol cars, and even scaled up a few walls to get to the second floor of their building.

Once inside, the wolves ran off to guard while Jesse knocked the pelt to the floor and hauled his mate to the bathroom in the nick of time. He himself collapsed on the floor next to the toilet and held his own insides in. The smell was acidic and everywhere, but Jesse didn’t dare think of leaving his mate. He would endure for as long as Hanzo needed him to.

A moment of silence broken by a low groan brought Hanzo back to relative alertness. Jesse rubbed circles into his shoulder as he rested his clammy forehead against the toilet seat, gasping and choking with every breath.

Jesse had so many questions about everything - about him, the spirits, just _how_ connected they really were - but he shoved them all aside for Hanzo. He moved in and lifted his mate’s head up to dab at his sweat with a damp cloth, which Hanzo leaned into and sighed in relief.

“How’re y’ feeling, Han?” He asked, handing the cloth over and supporting Hanzo’s weight as he wiped his face clean.

“Shit.”

Jesse barked a laugh, nearly losing grip of Hanzo who managed to smirk a little. He kept his grip and shook his head; Hanzo would be fine if he could snark in this condition.

“I’ll go get ya somethin’ to drink. Can you get yourself outta yer armour?” At Hanzo’s nod, Jesse pushed himself up onto his feet and forced himself to walk away without looking back. He felt no eyes on his back.

He passed by a pacing Iwanko on the way to the kitchenette and the wolf stopped to look him over, body language listless as his master’s as soon as he did. Even immortal spirits without a stomach could feel nauseous.

Jesse scratched him behind the ears and tried to smile again. “Hope lemon tea’s okay for y’all.”

 _You’re still bleeding, cub,_ Iwanko whined, pressing his nose into Jesse’s palm. The downward tilt of his eyes and overly concerned tone weren’t anything Jesse was used to coming from Iwanko of all folks, but he found it fitting. A perfect partner to Hachiko’s open affections.

Jesse put a hand to his neck and suppressed a flinch when he touched the wound. It had clotted somewhat, and he hadn’t lost nearly as much blood as he had to the silver, but it was gaping and seeping. Even before his turning, healing _never_ took this long.

He shrugged and bundled his serape to press down on the graze. Iwanko watched his movements, lolling his head at the forced nonchalant behaviour. Jesse rolled his shoulders and looked away, hiding the near shame of being so transparent in this moment. So much for Blackwatch’s undercover master.

“It’s Hachi’s job t’ worry over me. Where’s she at anyhow?” Jesse asked as he busied his hands with the tea bags and cups (idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, as Reyes said once upon a time before he turned paranoid).

Iwanko sat at the doorway and scratched at his neck, shaking out fur that wasn’t really there. _She is on the lookout for your doctor._

Angela.

Shit, he’d almost forgotten.

(There was the breakdown again.)

He couldn’t very well kick Hanzo out or hide him from her in the bathroom.

And if she were to find out who he was…

(God, he didn’t have enough time!)

 _Cub?_ Iwanko licked the tips of his right fingers and whined. Jesse shook himself and stroked down his neck before filling a cup with hot water.

“Hanzo can hear me through you, right?” He dumped the tea bag in and scurried around, anything to avoid the spiralling lapping at his heels.

Iwanko nodded and Jesse continued.

“Right darlin’, ‘bout Angela - the doc on her way here - she ain’t the biggest fan of you.”

Iwanko’s facial markings glowed under his fur, as if he were a Chōchin lantern floating to the clouds, and his golden eyes narrowed. _What have we done to her?_

“It ain’t that, but she…” Jesse swallowed and opened a cabinet, full of tins and jars from yesteryear.

He had to lie, to his **_mate_ **.

It wasn’t his place to reveal the truth about Genji, to get between brothers who had yet to find each other. Genji would kill Hanzo, he had to keep him safe, keep him away—

It wasn’t his place to force them apart.

But they couldn’t find out like this. Anything but _this_.

“Angela’s the one who found yer brother that night. She examined him, wrote up his report. She knows more than anyone what you did, and she hates you for it.” It wasn’t a lie, but nor was it the whole truth, from a certain point of view. It would have to be enough until he had time to think this through properly and make a plan on how to proceed.

(It was the right thing to do, even if it was months too late because he hadn’t dared think about Genji since.)

Angela didn’t make a habit of hating anyone - it got in the way of her oath to care for all - but there were exceptions to every rule, even to those with as iron a conviction as the good doctor. Her close friendship and wardship of Genji had ensured Hanzo would be one of them for as long as she lived and breathed.

Iwanko stared, eyes wide and mouth agape. His markings flashed and gaze darted around, much like Hanzo’s did when they conversed in his head. His image faded in and out, and his tail thumped on the ground, making no Earthly sound. A ghost through and through.

Jesse turned away, grabbed an unopened jar of ginger powder, and checked its date. August 2075; it wouldn’t do Hanzo any more harm to have a teaspoon of it in his tea.

(His stomach still sank. He was lying to his pack, to the man he promised to do right by no matter what.

What kind of wolf would do such a thing?

Hanzo didn’t deserve a mate like him.)

He cracked the jar open and sprinkled some of the powder into the mug, then grabbed another glass as his thoughts raced. Hanzo would need to wash the blood out of his mouth first, gargle the awful copper out, to feel more like himself instead of an amalgamation of mortal and spirit.

Jesse had to be better, had to make up for the lies he would tell today.

(Bury the guilt so deep he would have no chance of stumbling upon it ever again.)

With the tea ready and no other excuse keeping him away from the inevitable, Jesse filled up the glass with water and left the kitchenette with the drinks. He made a point not to look at Iwanko, knowing his resolve would fall apart if he knew what he was heading into.

Hanzo was much more serene than he expected, even half dressed and draped over a toilet bowl. His armour lay to the side around the sink, leaving him in his brown shitagi and dark kobakama. His waraji and kyahan were unfastened but attached, and the dark bags under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. His very aura emanated fatigue rarely seen on anybody but the deathly ill, and it sent Jesse into a fret of _doing better_.

“Want ‘em off, sweetheart?” Jesse licked his lips, inching closer. At Hanzo’s curt nod, he put the drinks down in front of his mate and went to his feet.

He kept his gaze low as he tugged the gear off bit by bit. Hanzo gurgled and spat above him, breathing heavily and dumping the glass without any grace. Jesse bit back the urge to snipe about broken glass they could step in.

“I understand,” Hanzo rasped, yet his voice was strained, for obvious reasons. “I am in no condition to leave, so I will continue my… disguise, during her stay.”

Jesse patted his thigh and began to organise all his gear into neat piles for easy pick up. It was a less than ideal situation, and lying to Angela wasn’t comfortable but he’d made a career out of it so far. A few more omissions of truth would fly under her radar just as well as his usual deflections to her prying questions.

(She worried, he knew that. There was nothing wrong with caring for a patient for whom you were the only doctor on Earth that could treat them.

But he couldn’t let her in. He left that life behind for good, he wouldn’t let himself be trapped in any semblance of it. He couldn’t cut her out completely, so this was the next best option he had.)

Jesse sat up and pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s temple, standing away as he leaned into it and adjusting the serape against his neck. It stuck to his skin and he sighed through his nose; he didn’t want to pass out from blood loss again…

“Jesse.” A hand caught onto his and stopped him in his tracks. Jesse glanced back to Hanzo, now trying to smile easily but only looking more shaken. “I’ll be fine, thanks to you. Take care of yourself now.”

Jesse smiled back, just as exhausted, and squeezed his hand. “Cariño—”

“I’m asking, as your mate,” Hanzo hardened and his nails dug in through his glove. “For you to look after yourself.”

Jesse felt his heart leap into his throat and swallowed past it, letting his fake smile fall to squeeze again. Hanzo let go of him and slumped against the toilet, breathing and heaving his chest with great effort. Jesse forced himself out of the bathroom a second time that night.

Iwanko brushed past him, trotting up to his master and curling into his space. Hanzo wrapped his arms around the transparent spirit as if he were the anchor keeping him in this world. Jesse turned a corner to the living room before it could stab him with melancholy.

(It was an ugly emotion and an ugly reason for it, but it was still there. He couldn’t provide what Hanzo really _needed_ in this moment, and the failure weighed on his shoulders as if he were Atlas.)

He came out to the room and unbuckled his holster as Hachiko’s form phased through the front door of the house, solidifying enough for the up quirk of her black lips to be a smile. She jumped up to nuzzle his cheek and nibble on his beard.

_We shall see you soon, cub. I will be watching you, though._

“I don’ expect any less—”

A knock on the door.

Mango scented soap and disinfectant.

The flat click of well-worn pumps.

Angela was here.

(Lord have Mercy.)

Jesse saw more than he felt himself open the door an inch and peer out. There she was, in all her glory.

Mussed blonde hair tied up hastily, lab coat thrown over her disassembled Valkyrie suit, and not looking a day older than the last time he saw her in Zurich five years ago. Only the smeared mascara and flushed face told him that she was the real thing, not a vision made of his most tattered memories. She’d never allow herself to look so dishevelled around her patients, certainly not ones she barely had any jurisdiction over.

Now she was staring up at him with those dry blues he remembered more than anything and pulling her expression into something he didn’t recognise on her. An attempt at apathy, to keep her cool? It was hanging on by a thread and she didn’t show it.

“Grüezi, McCree, it’s good to see you.” Her accent was thick tonight, her lips a thin, cracked line; no makeup to speak of. Very unusual.

Jesse bowed his head to her and stepped aside, opening the door enough to allow her into her threshold, a star shining against the cold, grey walls. He locked up and hardly had time to turn around before his serape was yanked off by expert hands with their chipped nails. He was shoved into an armchair before he could catch them.

“Angela—” She escaped his grasp and stood over him, holding his head down as she poked her scanner (where had she been hiding that?) over his neck.

“Gopf, McCree, how long have you have this uncovered?” She muttered under her breath, but it was enough for him to clearly hear and respond to.

“An hour, I think? Maybe two?” He flinched and missed the rest of her mutterings, feeling the air around him shift and resisting every urge to shift his claws out and shove her off his neck. She was just doing her job, even if he couldn’t get a good look at it.

“Why don’t you have bandages or biotic emitters with you?”

“I hardly ever need ‘em, Doc. Got my healin’ most nights.”

“Except on new moon nights.” Angela stood up sharply and shrugged her coat off, depowered Valkyrie wings out in the open. She then pulled her collapsed Caduceus staff from _somewhere_ in the fabric. Jesse went to stand too, but her glare pinned him down firmly.

(He didn’t want to know if she was hiding her stun pistol in there as well.)

“It ain’t new moon, it’s waxin’.” He argued instead, praying her oath would keep him safe from piercing glares and other ominous expressions. Like the one she was giving him now.

“McCree, have you _looked_ outside?” She rubbed her forehead and gritted her teeth audibly, baring them at him. His shoulders tensed and the hair stood on end; a challenger, coming for the pack, possibly armed—

“Course I have, it’s cloudy as shit.” He clenched his jaw and breathed. Angela wasn't here to fight - she never was, that’s what made her so trustworthy in bases full of agitated soldiers and agents - she just wanted to help others.

“The reason you are not healing is because of the new moon _behind_ those clouds.” Angela extended her staff and held it over Jesse, the golden stream of light flowing into his wound to knit it back together molecule by molecule. It itched something powerful but he dug his nails into his palm and resorted to watching her.

She returned the gesture, gradually slumping her shoulders and slipping off the mask she had hurried into place. The shadows around her eyes darkened, faint wrinkles appeared, and the thread snapped.

“I… I got the alert that you tried to track my location,” Angela started, tightening her grip on her staff. She finally looked away, gaze sombered to something more familiar but no less displaced. Her gaze roamed over her bare hands, noticing how her haste had cut imperative corners in the care for her patient. “Then I heard Deadlock had killed you. It doesn’t take a genius to know they happened on the same night, but th-then I got your area alert tonight and I had to…to…”

Oh.

It wasn’t just Ana.

(He fucked up big this time.)

“I’m sorry Angie,” Jesse said quietly as he stood up inch by inch, hands out in surrender. “I never meant t’ make any of ya worry over lil’ ol’ me. I had to go int’ hiding so I could get the jump on Deadlock.”

“By raiding a hyper-train?!” Her head snapped up, her ire burning through and halting his step toward her. Her hunched over, instincts yelling at him to placate, to deter the fury.

“Weren’t me that was raidin’, it was terrorists.” Should he mention Talon to her? He hadn’t had a chance to investigate their resurgence yet, and Angela could get the UN involved with a flick of her wrist. Yet, he didn’t know how far their reach was nowadays. If they had survived this long leaderless and underground, it had to be because of powerful outside support.

“If ya let me explain, I’ll tell you what happened.”

Angela quirked her eyebrow up, looking him over with that attention to detail that made her mind so brilliant. It’s part of what attracted him to her when they were younger and dipping their toes into the world of Overwatch. She relaxed and let her arms down enough for him to move in and pat her shoulder, uneasy smile shining down at her.

Angela rolled her eyes and shrugged him off, turning away to pick up her coat and give her staff to Jesse.

“Let me wash my hands and we’ll talk.” She flexed her fingers and cracked her knuckles, purely from muscle memory of exercises to prevent the carpal tunnel that haunted thousands of med students every year. “Keep the staff on your wound for another twenty minutes, danke.”

“Sure thing, Ange.” Jesse saluted her as she walked off towards the kitchenette, and put the staff on the couch while he pulled his dirty boots off. He’d need to vacuum around here before they left; Hanzo hated outdoor shoes being worn indoors and the last thing his mate needed was something so minute irritating him during his his recovery.

“ ** _Herrgott!!_ ** ”

“Angie!”

Jesse dropped his boots and launched over the couch. He sprinted to the kitchenette, the scent of Angela’s fear overpowering everything—

Hanzo stood in front of the sink, eyes wide, jaw clamped, and tea dangling from his hands as if he were passing through and not recovering from bloodied vomiting. Angela was near the doorway, a deer in the headlights and ready to jump away. Everything in them screamed ‘What the hell do I do now?’ and Jesse had no answer for either of them. Nothing moved, nothing so much as breathed as time skidded to a halt and formed a tense bubble begging to burst.

Hanzo’s gaze flicked over to Jesse and his chest warmed as those deep browns took him in, as if there was nothing else but them in the world. Nothing about him suggested the hell he had been through tonight, not a speck to be seen; he was himself again. Jesse smiled at him without a thought and the warmth spread, taking over until his senses were lulled—

“You’re bleeding,” Hanzo said, loud enough to turn Angela around and pierce him with twice as many stares than he needed.

Jesse’s gazed passed between them and the urge to hide his face in his shirt collar grew almost too strong to ignore. His hand went to his wound; it was open still, but he felt nothing seeping onto his fingers. No bleeding, so what…

Hanzo snuck past him as Angela pounced, pulling him down to her level to poke him all over again. A fucking distraction. Jesse didn’t know whether to be charmed, annoyed, or turned on by his boyfriend’s quick, dastardly thinking.

(He decided he could be all three at once.)

He managed to shoot a quick glare over his shoulder, enough to see Hanzo darting to his pelt and twisting is off, before forcibly removing himself from Angela’s grip (and getting nailed in the face for it).

“Jesse James Nathaniel McCree—” Angela brought herself up tall, hands on hips and the stern line of her lips holding a threat only a doctor of her stature could make. “I leave you alone for two seconds and you already disregard my orders!”

“Angie—”

A snicker came from the living room and Jesse swung around to fully narrow his eyes, surely flashing gold and red, at Hanzo. He was calm and collected, a completely different picture to what he was a minute ago, but the edge of his mustache twitched to crack the image of a cucumber cool archer.

“Don’t think this is over, Han. We’re gonna have _words_.”

Hanzo sobered, but he wasn’t looking at Jesse. His gaze was behind him, on their guest. Shit.

Jesse took a breath and stepped away from the kitchenette, making a point to not look back until he had every muscle under his firm command and could easily excrete absolute nonchalance to the doctor who knew too much with just one glance.

He stood next to Hanzo, turned around and put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. Angela stood in the doorway, studying them with a raised eyebrow as she put on a pair of surgical gloves. Despite the distance between them, she was already too close to the truth. She could take apart their stories with a carefully worded question at the right time, as precise as her scalpel.

Jesse couldn’t lose his resolve here. She wouldn’t get in; he wouldn’t let the past take a hold on him.

“Sorry,” he said under his breath. “Follow my lead?”

Hanzo, to his credit, didn’t so much as blink at him as he hummed in agreement and watched Angela like a predator watches their competition. He was slipping into a disguise without a second thought.

(He pushed back the memory of Reyes taunting Genji in Venice, enraging him with pointed words of how good an agent his brother would be.

It was clear as _day_.)

“Angie, you’ve met my new partner, Han.” He felt a hand go to the small of his back and he leaned away, squeezing Hanzo’s shoulder in apology. “Han, this is Angela. Best doc in the world.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, McCree.” Angela scoffed, still watching Hanzo.

His eyebrows shot up and he regarded Jesse from the corner of his eye. “I like her.”

The hurt was almost too obvious. Jesse gulped and backed off, picking up Angela’s staff from the couch. The nanobot stream resumed and attacked his neck again, filling him with the distinct, skin crawling feeling only a hospital could give him.

Hanzo and Angela stayed in their places, creating a Mexican stand-off Jesse wasn’t sure he’d get away from unscathed. If one thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to be allowed to forget tonight for a long damn time.

 

**0XX0**

 

It took roughly an hour for Jesse’s wound to close up completely, and by then it was nearing midnight with no reliable transport to get Angela out of the city to her next stop. So, with none of his hesitation showing through, Jesse invited her to stay the night in one of the spare rooms neither he (nor Hanzo) had taken for themselves.

She reluctantly agreed and went about tidying her supplies into a pile on the couch, all while making conversation of what she had been up to. It was a sloppy attempt at digging into his own life, to connect and tie them closer together, but it was late and no one felt like sleeping yet so he didn’t call her out on the bullshit.

He wasn’t going to play the game either.

He and Hanzo sat together on the opposite couch with their legs tucked up and looking for all the world like a pair of professional accomplices, rather than two mates trying their damndest not to act out of place in front of a guest. Hanzo didn’t place himself into the conversation, which was probably the smartest move, but Jesse would’ve appreciated _some_ backup here.

Hanzo was a private person; he would understand his need to keep personal things away from Angela.

…Right?

Angela only spoke to Hanzo twice: first to ask if he was injured as well (he wasn’t, no you don’t need to check), and second to enquire what he knew of Jesse’s ‘condition’, all while eyeing the pelt he kept on his lap.

“Yeah, he’s a furry.” Jesse chuckled and tipped his hat up. Angela sat up rod straight, gaze distant and remembering all the emergency appointments she had to remove all manner of items from agents’ nether regions.

(The ‘lightbulb up his butt’ incident still made him smile when he let himself think about it. Poor Rodriguez never got all the shards out.)

“Don’t call me out like that,” Hanzo said, crossing his arms and sending Jesse a dirty look. His mustache twitched up and Jesse smirked; he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just sayin’ it as it is, darlin’.” He winked and Hanzo shook his head, unable to hide the slight flush of his cheeks. It shouldn’t be cute on him, but it was.

Angela’s chortle brought him back to their company and he cleared his throat as she raised an eyebrow at them. Heat crawled to his ears and he looked away, ashamed to have been caught off guard. If this were an undercover mission, he would’ve died already. _Great_.

“So, y’ never said why you’re in this city, Angie.” It was enough to get her talking again, instead of dissecting their relationship and unraveling his lies (there were so many at once).

“Ah yes, as I was saying, I stopped here on my way to see Ingrid’s newest grandson - Torbjörn won’t stop sending me photos of the family - to visit the hospital I did my residency at…”

With the doctor distracted by her not-so-tall tale, Jesse risked a glance at Hanzo. Their eyes caught and his breath stuttered as Hanzo looked him up and down with a hooded gaze. He adjusted his seating against the armrest and stretched his leg out to Jesse, prodding him with a toe.

Angela was still talking, going on about emails Torbjörn’s youngest had sent of her and Reinhardt’s adventures in eastern Europe. She paid them no heed for the time being.

Jesse reached out and tapped his fingers against Hanzo’s shin. “Sorry, Han.”

Hanzo tapped back against the hollow shell of his pelt, only acknowledging him from the corner of his eye. “Don’t.”

Even without a sound, he managed to be so curt. Jesse blinked and flexed his wrist so Angela wouldn’t see him making a sudden apologetic grab for his boyfriend. He watched Angela again, mindlessly humming along to her anecdotes.

He paid no attention to her as she mused over the goings ons of the many Lindholm spawns, and started tapping again.

“I can’t let Overwatch into my life again. Any part of it, including her.”

Hanzo pressed his foot into Jesse’s hip and he held onto the ankle for dear life, metal digging into fabric. His ears perked up, fading everything else out.

“We’ll talk about it later, Jesse.”

It wasn’t nothing. The sigh Jesse let out roared through him, and nothing could stop the soft smile from growing and tilting the laugh lines around his mouth. It’d been too long.

“So, what do you think, McCree?”

Jesse snapped back to Angela, taking notice of her far too interested half-lidded look and teasing, smug smirk that showed just how much she had seen between them. He rubbed the back of his neck, grip still strong on Hanzo’s ankle, and refused to back down to her new game.

“Sorry, Ange; what was that?” He heard his voice crack and so did Angela, but clearing it would admit he’d been distracted and put the ball in her court. Jesse McCree had never been truthfully credited as a graceful loser.

“I was thinking of sending your samples to the university I got in touch with.” She glanced between him and Hanzo, not regarding the confusion from Jesse of when _that_ had come up in her talking.

She narrowed her eyes and linked her fingers on her lap as she leaned towards them, her steady eyes on Hanzo the whole time. He didn’t flinch or squirm under her, facing her head on as an equal challenger

“Do you trust him, McCree?”

Jesse’s throat ran dry and his voice stalled as he processed the left field question. Her mind was miles ahead in the race while he was stumbling in the mud with no hope of catching up. He took a pause and looked between Hanzo and Angela, the one-sided stand-off he couldn’t foretell the ending of.

Angela wasn’t prying—the question was too forward, too pointed. Her scrutinizing gaze was pulling apart a man she had no hold over.

But she had one on Jesse, so he was her best chance to know _something_ about the stranger the elusive McCree let into his inner world. A feat very few had accomplished, though for different reasons than Hanzo.

So he spoke the first truth of the night: “With my life.”

That earned him a pair of stares, as amazed as they were baffled or flustered. Hanzo’s flickered amber as his front wall fell to show the red tipping his ears. He knew the words to be true, more than anything, but Jesse hadn’t said the extent of it so bluntly yet.

Jesse threw him a quick wink and let himself relax to rest his chin in his palm, no twinge in his jaw bothering him as he simpered in Angela’s direction.

The gears were turning in her head, adjusting her plan to an answer she never expected from him. True to form, she recovered quickly and went back to it without skipping a beat.

“I came into contact with representatives of wulver and faoladh packs in Ireland,” she explained as she scratched her nails against each other and pretended to be interested in their molecular build. “And now I have gained their trust enough to use their specific facilities and archives. There’s still so much we don’t know about your condition, McCree.”

Hanzo shifted again, pulling his legs up to swing them over the edge of the couch cushions. Interest or something else, Jesse would find out later.

“With your permission, I’d like to send them your DNA for testing. We could find out where that first werewolf came from, or even why you’re such a different specimen compared to the strike team’s data.”

There were many questions Jesse had abandoned during the early years flying solo, searching for information on his kind. Ones he had lost hope of ever finding answers to his own damn genetic makeup. Another mystery to put onto his already impressive pile.

A chance to know didn’t come up often enough.

“How would ya go about doin’ that, Ange?” He asked to dissuade his eagerness at the prospect. His cautious side was aching to know as well, to poke holes in the logic of Angela taking his DNA out onto the road.

“I don’t have any of the equipment needed on hand to take them now,” Angela answered with a head shake. “But you’re still in contact with Fareeha, ja? I can send them to her and she can forward them as need be.”

“An’ I’ll be yer post office?” Jesse raised an eyebrow, memory of Fareeha’s lost plans with Angela rising again. He couldn’t let that affect him now.

“If you don’t mind.” Angela smirked back, and it wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been.

The room lapsed into silence, nowhere to look but at each other, and no conversation to start or continue. Jesse didn’t dare look at Hanzo again, lest it give Angela ammunition to use and turn into her own story. It would be too close to reality for him to be comfortable with her believing.

Hanzo moved beside him again, standing onto his feet with his pelt in his arms and his expression back to the neutrality of a natural born killer. The air, strange enough, did not turn cold.

Another mask.

“I will retire for the night now.” he dusted off the pelt, something to distract his fidgeting fingers. Jese sat up, wanting to follow his mate, take him to their bed and curl around him until tonight was gone from all memory. Breathe nothing but his scent and bathe himself in it to the point he lost everything that was himself.

(Be a worthy mate.)

“McCree, are you going to let your partner carry all of that gear by himself?”

Angela pointed a raised eyebrow at Jesse and he faltered, ready to defend Hanzo’s clear upper body strength and his ability to use it as needed, but she smirked again and gestured for them to leave. She got up to go to the kitchenette, abandoning them to privacy.

What did she suspect…?

Hanzo cleared his throat and held out his pelt. Jesse took it and followed him once he’d gotten his armour and shoes gathered in his arms. They walked out to the staircase, and Hanzo went up the steps, towering over Jesse with a heated look full of the interest he had teased earlier.

“Hey, pumpkin.” Jesse whispered, all breathe stolen at the sight.

Hanzo raised a hand to tilt his chin up and scratch softly through his beard. Jesse purred and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch he’d yearned for hours. He didn’t know how much he could miss such a simple thing once it had been restricted. The wolf was tired and quiet, but he hungered in its place.

“You should get it done,” Hanzo said to the shell of his ear. Jesse opened his eyes to meet his level. “The testing. You should seize the opportunity for clarity.”

“It’s something t’ think about fer sure.” Jesse turned to kiss Hanzo’s palm, breathing in more of his wonderful scent.

“I know you don’t need my input, but I will give it anyway.” Jesse could feel his eye roll without looking and chuckled.

“I appreciate it all the same, darlin’.” He intertwined their fingers and brushed his thumb over rough knuckles. “We’re a team; you have a say in these kinda decisions too.”

Hanzo hummed and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “What ails you then?”

“Jus’ seems risky, is all. If it ended up in the wrong hands…”

“Do you trust her?”

Jesse looked at Hanzo again, unloading the question in his head. He wouldn’t say he didn’t trust Angela - she had never steered him wrong nor hurt him purposefully - but it was a lie to say she had his full confidence. It was a complicated thing for sure, one without a name that encompassed the entirety of their personal and professional relationship.

So he stuck to what he knew.

“She won’t let anythin’ happen. An’ the packs won’t turn on a wolf either.”

Hanzo nodded and smiled coyly, flicking up the end of his nose. “You have your answer.”

Jesse laughed and pulled his mate down into a warm embrace, gripping him tightly. Hanzo returned it and scented his hair, almost knocking off his hat in the process. Arms wrapped around his shoulders and Jesse had to remind himself they had a guest only a few feet away who wouldn’t appreciate two wolves taking their too-long suppressed desires on the staircase.

The time for that would come soon enough.

“This is why I like havin’ ya around, Han.” Jesse pulled away and kissed him chaste.

Hanzo smirked, playful and amused. “Among many other reasons.”

“Oh so many.”

Hanzo ran a hand through Jesse’s bangs, a spark in his eyes promising _something_. It made his toes curl excitedly.

“I will see you soon, in bed.” Hanzo held his face and nipped his bottom lip, dragging it back with him. Jesse forgot how to breathe. “Don’t take long.”

Jesse growled back and went to chase his mate’s teasing when he caught his eyes again. Hanzo’s pupil’s were pin-prick small instead of blown out, and his smirk sharpened into something wicked as he ascended up the stairs.

“Goodnight, McCree,” he announced loudly, gesturing to the living room. “Make sure Doctor Ziegler looks at your silver bullet wound!”

A clatter of glass and china, hurried footsteps, and the mango scent warned him too late to whom had been listening in. Hanzo disappeared upstairs as his last jab of revenge came marching through. “Your **_what_ ** _?!_ ”

 

**0XX0**

 

Without Hanzo around to divert her scrutiny, Angela scolded Jesse left and right for just about everything; falling for such an obvious trap; having no backup; once again travelling without a fully stocked medkit; not wearing enough armour; moving around so much with _silver_ in him. At some point she switched to her mother tongue to lecture him, and Jesse gave up trying to listen.

She checked the wound scarring, scanning him internally with the staff while muttering science jargon under her breath. Jesse stayed quiet until he heard her telltale trilling through her teeth (did she know she did that? She kept her expressions under such a tight ship) that told him she was pleased with the results.

“The scarring has ruined your mediocre physique, but there’s no lasting damage to your organs that I can find. I would drag you to the hospital for further tests, though I feel you would not appreciate that.” They laughed over the obscurity of such a scene, and it was almost as if they could be friends.

(If only.)

With him already half-stripped bare, Angela also detached his prosthetic and checked the software of the wireless nerve connecters of her own invention under his skin. A few shocks later and she was pleased as punch at how well it had help up over the past six years.

(Six years already? Nearly seven?

So long ago, yet no time passed since he had turned back on it all.)

Angela sent him off to bed with a promise to tinker with his arm (Torbjörn taught her well, he trusted that) and he did his damndest not to run up the stairs two steps at a time. No need to tip off the professed eavesdropper that he was eager for the man waiting in their bed.

On the landing, Jesse took a deep breath and stopped when Hanzo’s scent drifted out from the closed door next to the room they offered to Angela. Their room was away at the far end of the hall.

Jesse whined in this throat and knocked on the door gently. There was a shallow breathing on the other side, no moving around or shuffling. A folded note slipped under the door, and he picked it up, confusion growing evermore.

 

_Jesse,_

_To respect your ‘privacy’, I have opted to sleep in a separate room tonight._

_Go and suffer, dear_

_Han._

 

“Ohhh,’ he growled and scoffed, straining not to smile. The touches, the looks, all that riling up; it made sense now. “You goddamn _tease_.”

He was sure there was a chuckle on the other side of the door, and he huffed, folding the note into his pocket. This was a game he _would_ play and win, especially if the prize was greater than Hanzo laughing at a dumb pun or getting a cooked meal from him. Oh, this would be _grand._

Emboldened and ready to face the night, Jesse went to their room and changed into his sweatpants with only minor difficulty and two stubbed toes. His day clothes were dumped onto the duffle bag and he crawled under the bed sheets, resting in his designated spot and, God willing, trying to ignore the emptiness around him. He shuffled closer to the wall and curled up, hand under pillow with one of Hanzo’s daggers and mind racing all over in vain of sleeping. He’d exhaust himself eventually, and tomorrow he’d have Hanzo all to himself again to act however he pleased.

(The lies would still be there, haunting him as well as any ghost.)

Closing his eyes wasn’t enough to send him into a slumber. Instead, he drifted along the edge, the tiniest sounds keeping him from jumping in fully. The wind against the walls, creaking floorboards, rumbling pipes, vehicles passing by miles away. It all carried to his head and he couldn’t block them out, just as well as he couldn’t silence the voices in his head.

_Lies never stay hidden._

_This is what you get for trusting._

_He deserves to know, you are no part of their history._

_You wouldn’t be here if you’d stayed with us!_

(They would never leave him.)

Jesse didn’t open his eyes as the door opened and closed, nor when the bed dipped behind him from a new weight. Instead, he lifted up the covers and groaned as hot arms wrapped around his naked middle to pull him flush against an equally bare chest. Calloused hands roamed over muscle and fat, sending shivers of pleasure up his spine. Such a simple thing, yet he wanted it more than sleep and rest for the rest of the late night.

Hanzo inhaled deeply and pressed his face into Jesse’s neck, lips pursed against his heartbeat. His hands rested on Jesse’s pecs, thumbs stroking circles too close to where they needed to be, and Hanzo curled around him, tangling their legs together.

“I once had the self-discipline to walk away from all temptations,” Hanzo whispered, his voice low and husky against newly healed skin. His teeth grazed against it and goosebumps followed. “And then I met _you_.”

Jesse smirked, rolled his hips to brush his ass against Hanzo’s (borrowed) boxers, and whispered back. “One of my many talents, _dear_.”

Hanzo bit his earlobe and dragged it through his teeth as his hands squeezed tight enough to hurt. Jesse pursed his lips and leaned into it, his hand drifting from the dagger to Hanzo’s loose hair.

“It is not a laughing matter,” Hanzo scented down his neck to his shoulder, running his hands through the course hair that dusted Jesse’s front. “I should be able to be apart from you, not running back to you as if I were desperate…”

Jesse stilled and looked over his shoulder as best he could without displacing Hanzo. He was ducked into his shoulder and no longer roaming. A proud man, with so little to hold onto, feeling it slip through his fingers and willing to give anything to keep what he had. A new experience revealing an uncomfortable truth he’d rather not face; it went against too much of what he knew. His mate was tormented and what could he do to soothe, to reassure?

Jesse rolled over to face Hanzo, resting his stump on his waist and combing his fingers through the white locks. Hanzo dug his nails into the meat of his back and nuzzled his cheek, hiding the dim glow of his markings from view.

“Tell me what ya want, cariño,” Jesse murmured into his hair, pulling him close and tightening the vice he had on his heart. “What can I do for you?”

Hanzo lifted his head, pressing foreheads and staring through him, like his very soul held all the answers he needed. His hand came to brush the hair out of Jesse’s eyes, thumb stroking his forehead. No gold flickered through his gaze; no second or third opinions to consider for his answer. It was all him.

“What I want,” he started slowly, lips barely moving but just as captivating. “Is to have what I’ve been denied. To remind you that you are mine, and I am yours, no matter who you want to hide that from.”

Jesse swallowed and his throat dried, a strange warmth spreading through him that was no less intense than the heat of lust that had plagued him tonight. He smirked and cupped his mate’s jaw, inching in closer.

“I want that too. I can do that, sweetness.” He kissed his stubble and then down his neck, drinking in the long sigh that breezed over him. It was faintly tinted with peppermint and complimented him as well as Stormbow did his talents. He wanted to taste, let it wash over him, but he held back until his mate gave the sign.

Hanzo’s hands moved again, gripping his waist and flipping Jesse onto his back to straddle him. He knelt over him, eyes blown black, and the tips of his fingers trailing up to his neck, drawing over every tiny detail he could feel. Jesse arched his back and moaned through a bit lip, not daring to look away from the holy vision he was blessed with this night.

“All _you_ have to do, is lie back and enjoy this.” Lips brushed over his collarbone and Jesse grabbed the bedsheets, letting his head fall back onto the pillows. His gut tightened as Hanzo slowly rolled his hips, the friction tensing his muscles and hardening his core.

He knew Hanzo could feel it; the white wolf grinned wickedly and pressed his sharp fangs against Jesse’s throat, a promise of what was to come. Jesse bared his throat and Hanzo moved up to nose the soft skin under his ear, growling through his boiling blood to lay his claim.

“I understand why you didn’t want your doctor to know about us, but you already know how much of a selfish man I am.”

“Tell me again, sugar,” Jesse groaned, closing his eyes again and pulling his legs up to cage his mate between them.  “Show me.”

“I will give you a taste, before the main course.” He could feel Hanzo’s smirk against his stubble, followed by a trail of biting kisses down to the centre of his chest. His touches returned to his aching pecs, pinching and twisting in all the right places.

Jesse swallowed a strangled moan, pulling his mate in to soak in his heat and every laboured breath pebbling his skin. “Yer lucky I like ya, Han.”

“I like you too, now hush.” His lips hovered over his thumping heart and a hand covered Jesse’s mouth, smothering the whines and moans. “The wolf hungers.”

Teeth sank into flesh and Jesse saw stars on a cloudy night.

 

**0XX0**

 

Jesse woke up slowly to a lightened room and the lingering scent of lemon drifting through the air. He smacked his dry lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he sat up, taking note of his lack of pajamas and sheets on the bed. Hanzo must have put everything in the laundry after last night’s fun.

Speaking of…

Where _was_ his mate?

He yawned widely, cracking his jaw and rubbed the sand out of his eyes before scratching at his neck, reminding him of the Before last night. He hoped that Angela had already left, but that would be too good to be true.

He popped his neck as he got up and shook his hair out to a slightly less scruffy look, poking around with his feet for his jeans somewhere under his chaps. They should still be clean, though his shirt from yesterday would need the blood stains scrubbed out before he could wear it again. There should be some salt he could use for it somewhere in this safehouse…

With practiced one-armed ease, he changed into day clothes, opting for an undershirt to match his jeans and to steal Hanzo’s hooded jacket. He wouldn’t mind him borrowing it for the foreseeable future. He’d make it up to him anyhow.

One he shuffled out of the room, the scent of tea and warmth became stronger, and voices rang clearly through his head to wake him up fully.

Angela and Hanzo were talking. Uh oh.

It took every ounce of his willpower for Jesse to not sprint down the stairs and into the living room. Instead, he walked in as if he were on a leisurely stroll through the park… while being chased by wasps. He came in to find them sitting on opposite couches, plates of half-eaten toast and empty mugs by their feet.

Their conversation lulled to a halt when he appeared and eyes fell on him, more than he could see in front of him. He put on his best smile and saluted.

“G’mornin’, folks.”

Angela picked up her mug and nodded to him. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”

Jesse chuckled and stood over her couch, deeply inhaling the traces of her lemon tea. “I had a good night, I guess.”

A glance to Hanzo caught him narrowing his eyes, flashing gold. Jesse smirked. Hanzo twisted the end of his moustache, looking regal as could be in his week-old brown hitatare and hakama.

“What’cha gossipin’ about? Me, I hope.” Jesse patted Angela on the shoulder and strode over to the kitchenette, ignoring her huff and unspoken rebuke.

Hanzo rolled his eyes and sat back, tucking his legs underneath himself. “Actually, we were discussing T.M.Scanlon’s portrayal of contractualism in his papers.”

“Which somehow led us to debating Jonathan Dancy and moral particularism.” Angela laughed and swirled the last dregs of her tea. She looked much better today with her clear skin and neatened hair tied up; not that she had slept much but her spirits were high and shining through. She finally looked like herself.

Jesse stopped in the doorway, running the words through his inner-dictionary, but came up with nothing, so he sighed at them both.

“Y’all nerds.”

Angela’s loud snort followed him to the toaster, and Hanzo’s mutterings of his ‘unsophisticated ways’ made him chuckle as he took the last slices of slightly stale cruiseliner bread for his breakfast. At least them talking wasn’t an absolute disaster like he had feared, but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat apprehensive about it. What if Angela caught on to the lie? What if she recognised Hanzo’s unique features from the report files? What if, what if, what if…

No, Hanzo had a handle on this. He wouldn’t let her dig deeper, undo all the work Jesse had done to keep his life under wraps from her.

(He wouldn’t let the past take hold of what was his.)

His ears perked up at the sound of his name and he leaned back to listen in as he slathered his bread with as many jams as he could fit. Angela was doing most of the talking, intercut with Hanzo’s hums and barks of sometimes-genuine laughter.

“I still remember the pick-up line he tried to use on me: ‘If we got together, let’s just say that horses wouldn’t be called horses anymore.’”

Ah shit.

Double fucking shit.

Jesse rushed back into the living room to find Hanzo holding his head in his hands, somewhere between wheezing and groaning. Angela was curled over herself, wiping her eyes dry and giggling into her coat - at his expense!

“What does that _mean_ , Jesse?” Hanzo asked, looking over to him with an expression mixed with amazement and perplexity. Angela opened up from her position and grinned at him, not unlike a cat who had caught her mouse. He refused to squeak.

“Why’re you tellin’ that story, Angie?” He put his hands on his hips and did his best not to pout. From the way Angela smirked and batted her eyelashes, it was in vain.

“I thought you wanted us to gossip about you?”

Jesse narrowed his eyes, gaze flitting between them. Angela kept her wits about her while Hanzo wagged an eyebrow, surely saving this information for a later time. Jesse exhaled and crossed his arms, standing at the end of the couches.

“Not ‘bout _that_.”

Angela waved a hand, dismissing his embarrassment. “We’ve all had our moments, McCree. That one just happened to be yours.”

“I’ve had better moments!” He argued.

“Have you though?” Hanzo smirked and Jesse turned on him, brow furrowed and face flushed.

“Don’ you sass me.” Hanzo laughed, and Jesse knew he was ruined once more. Not that he minded too much with his mate, but ganging up on a man just wasn’t fair!

“Alright, I’ll ease up on you. I need to get out of your hair anyway.” Angela put her mug down and stood up, dusting down her front to conform to her usual pristine self. She picked up a bag from under her feet and hauled it over her shoulders, the collapsed Caduceus staff poking out from the Valkyrie suit crammed in there. She already had her pumps on, and she was ready to face the world head on once again.

She was leaving, hallelujah.

“Thank you for your help, it’s greatly appreciated.” Hanzo stood up as well and bowed to her, lips drawn flat and his tone, while polite, echoing the same.

“Your welcome,” Angela nodded back, walking around the couches. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Serizawa-san.”

“Likewise.” She turned to Jesse and smiled, worn and weary, and all too kind. “It was good to see you again, McCree. Fareeha will tell you when the equipment is ready for you, and I’ve left you some bio emitters for your supplies.”

She headed for the front door, to step out of his life for another six years, taking other answers he’d been searching for along with her. He looked to Hanzo, whose back was turned cleaning up their breakfast, and wondered not for the first time if he could justify keeping so much from him.

Maybe he could, and his only chance to find out was walking away.

“I’ll walk ya out, Ange.” Jesse said as he grabbed his boots, still dirty from the night before, and tugged them on. Hanzo and Angela threw looks of surprise his way and he tossed them aside, focusing on combing through his hair with his fingers. “Don’ want anybody followin’ ya or trailin’ back to us.”

“Um, danke.” Angela blinked and zipped up her coat, not meeting his eye as he held the door open for her and she went past him.

Jesse spared a glance back to Hanzo, finding an open, quizzical expression in the furrow of his brow and downturn of his lips. Jesse tipped a hat that wasn’t there and winked at him; it was nothing to worry about. He hoped so.

Once he stepped out and shut the door behind him, Jesse let out a long sigh and dug his hands into his pockets. Angela was right beside him, watching and studying as she tended to. He held down a shiver and offered his elbow to her, smile full of his trademark Southern Charm. She took it, but her own smile turned wistful as they started on their path down the quiet street.

“There are many things we disagree on,” Angela started before he could open his mouth. “But I am glad you have found someone who makes you happy.”

He gave her a look. “What’d ya mean?”

“Don’t give me that, McCree.” She nudged his side and tutted him, hand to her chest. “I’m not blind. Anybody can see that you’re clearly attracted to one another.”

Jesse inhaled the biting winter cold through his teeth and buried his neck into the collar of the jacket, curling his hands into fists. “It ain’t like that.”

“You tell that to the way Serizawa was undressing you with his eyes last night.” Angela giggled and hunched in close to him. “Or your very obvious, still very terrible flirting with him.”

He clenched his jaw against the way his face heated up and wished he’d had the foresight to grab his serape as well. Any barrier between him and her prying teases would be welcome by his growing irritation. He didn’t need this, didn’t need her treading into his life and acting like everything was dandy, as if they both hadn’t escaped the collapse of their adult lives by the skin of their teeth. As if she had a place in this new life of his.

“I must be honest though,” Her voice cut through him and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. She had calmed down and was staring up at the sky, counting the spots of blue between the vast grey. “Your partner… unnerves me.”

That was different. “How so?”

She pursed her lips and tapped her chin with her free hand. “I’m not sure how to say. Something about him, I can’t help but feel something nagging in the back of my mind. Like deja vu—”

Jesse bristled and hiked his shoulders up, staring wide-eyed.

“— or something else. It’s almost as if…”

She paused, narrowing her gaze and licking her lips.

“If I blink, or turn away from him, he’ll disappear into thin air.” She looked at him again, tightening her grip on his arm. “As if he’s not really there.”

Jesse knew. When they had met on that fateful full moon months ago, he couldn’t help but see the unearthly quality Hanzo had to him. It certainly didn’t help that they hardly saw each other in the early days; there were long days where Jesse wondered if he had simply dreamt up the handsome wolf to pretend he wasn’t so lonely.

But since finding out why he was like that… Well, Jesse didn’t notice it. Hanzo was Hanzo, and that was enough to look past the ghost walking in the shell of a man.

“He has that effect on folks.” Jesse hummed, nodding along and biting down on his tongue. Angela leaned back to regard him, that speculating spark flaring to life again.

“But not on you, hmm?” She nudged him again and he cut off a growl, tearing his arm away from her’s. She reared back, grasp only on herself as she watched, weary. As if he were a caged animal about to bite the hand that fed him, just like Jack…

“Stop it, Angela. Y’ don’t need to do that.” He snapped, tensing up and glaring at the end of the street. Away from her, from what she reminded him of, the things he lost in that explosion.

Their pace slowed and Angela said nothing. Jesse could feel her eyes burning into the side of his head. He didn’t turn.

He had to let go.

“Es duet mr leid.” Angela said quietly, falling into step with him but keeping her polite distance as they neared the turning of the street. “I was only trying to be friendly.”

“You don’t need t’ be,” He bit his lip and rolled his jaw, the tight coil snapping deep within. He couldn’t let a slip crumble the foundation he’d built their relationship on. His gaze darted around; no one was with them, there was no immediate danger. He didn’t have to worry about anything else. “I'm already yer friend.”

“But am I _your_ friend?” She fired back immediately and he looked down at her as she forced them to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. She was bursting with fire, that famous fury coming for him with nowhere to hide. And it struck him right on the bullseye of his soul. She _knew_.

He couldn’t find his words, or any words. His cover was blown, Angela was tearing it all down and reducing everything about them to complete ash.

Her blues pinned him in place, searing him down to the bone. He couldn’t run, couldn’t run, couldn’t deny.

It was over.

“I had hoped you would understand, Jesse.” Angela sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. She crossed her arms and tucked her hands in, kicking at nothing on the sidewalk. “What it’s like to be left behind by Overwatch.”

He did. It had shaped so much of his life, turned him into someone who thought he could save the world with a good aim and a strong sense of justice. Then he was suddenly without it and he found out what a fool he’d been.

How could he forget how many others were the same? How many had stayed until the very end and beyond, until there was nothing left to stand for. Angela had been one of the last out of that battlefield, determined to defend her choices and prove she hadn’t made a mistake in Overwatch. She told the UN many things, but above all else she had been trying to preserve some dignity for those like her.

Like him.

Jesse nodded and pursed his lips again, looking down at his boots. “We all got fucked over.”

She agreed and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You can’t go back to the world you came from. None of us are the same people anymore, and they don’t know what it’s like.”

Oh how true that was.

Overwatch changed something fundamental in all of them, Blackwatch even more so. People on the outside didn’t understand - they never could. They hadn’t experienced the inner workings, hadn’t been _damaged_ by living so deep in the secrets. Not like them.

She suddenly made sense, and Jesse felt an unending shame for it.

Even so, Angela had been Overwatch. It and Blackwatch were two different worlds, two different experiences even if they looked similar on the outside. They couldn’t relate on the same level, no. The only one who could was—

Genji. That’s why he was out here in the first place.

Jesse stood up and loosened himself, watching Angela. She was regarding him carefully, watching for signs of another turn or a flash of fangs to ward off. Held at arm’s length, losing herself more in the loneliness that had engulfed him before Hanzo.

Did she still have the lost brother?

“Ange, can I ask ya something?” She nodded and unfurled her arms, adjusting the bag strap over her shoulder. “Do… Do ya still talk to Genji?”

Angela froze, snapping her mouth shut with a loud click, but quickly relaxed, a small smile easing her features. “Ja, I do. We’ve sent each other letters every month for a few years now. Haven’t you been in touch?”

Jesse shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Genji had left Blackwatch the day Ana was lost on that mission, never reaching back or even telling them he had gone. Reyes checked his room that night and found it long abandoned.

He hadn’t reacted well. No one had.

Jesse himself left not long after, and Genji was too long gone into the wind for him to track down. He didn’t want to back then. How things change.

“I’ve jus’ been thinking ‘bout him lately, wonderin’ how he is.” Jesse sighed and looked ahead, rolling his shoulders. “Lil’ edgy shit was never the most well adjusted, so I just thought I’d ask after him.”

“He’ll be glad to hear it, Jesse.” Angela’s smile grew and she started walking again. Jesse went with her, paying close attention. “Truth be told, he’s not the Blackwatch agent you trained with. Sometimes I hardly recognise him, but…”

She sighed, a light and content sound. Jesse leaned in.

“He’s healing. He’s found happiness and peace, at long last.”

Jesse nearly fell over himself and scrambled to upright himself before it was noticed. Angela didn’t spare him a glance, so he jumped straight to the first question on his mind.

“How the hell that’d happen?”

“I thought the same thing.” Angela exclaimed, her disbelief evident. “He told me he met a Shambali monk, and with his guidance has come to accept his body and what happened to him—”

Her grip on her strap tightened and the fire flared for just a second. Long enough for him to catch and remind him of how close he had strayed toward danger by bringing her into their safehouse.

“— He’s gotten what he’s needed for so long. He’s even told me he’s ready to forgive that… that **_murderer_ **.”

Strayed too close.

“Forgive?” Jesse repeated. Angela affirmed and wiped her scowl away.

“He gave me a whole spiel about it that I don’t care to remember, but he’s determined to repair bridges he had no part in burning down. If it brings him some closure, I won’t stop him, but I won’t support such an idea.”

Genji wanted to forgive Hanzo.

No more killing, no more revenge. Closure and a chance to be family again.

Jesse was in the way, keeping them apart.

Keeping them away from the peace they both needed.

“Jesus,” He whispered, running a hand through his hair and tugging on it. He needed to talk to Genji, delve in deeper into his intentions with his brother ( _my mate_ ). Maybe it was a ploy, a way to avoid suspicion as he crept closer to Hanzo to deal the finishing blow. He was playing the Blackwatch book, wearing the mask to hide the bloodstains. He had to know.

“My feelings exactly.” Angela rolled her eyes and picked up her pace as they neared a bus shelter where early risers milled about. “I will let him know you asked after him. Maybe you two can get back in touch.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” He hung back as the people got closer, not willing to be seen or watched walking back to the house by any strangers. “And you too.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll keep in touch with you too, Angie.”

She turned to him with a smile that could have blinded an angel, the corners of her eyes crinkling and the creases of her mouth forming into long-forgotten laugh lines. Emotions rarely given to him freely, and he resisted the urge to deflect it somewhere it wouldn’t risk hurting him.

“You have my number.” She quickly hugged him with her free arm and kissed him on the cheek, huddling in the warmth he always radiated. He briefly returned it, taking small comforts.

They parted, her still smiling, and she patted his cheek.

“Make a move on Serizawa, you deserve some happiness too.”

Jesse sputtered in surprise and she laughed, jogging away to the shelter and leaving him a flustered mess. He flipped both birds at her and she just waved before disappearing from sight, the tinge of mango and lemon being the only sign that she was still amongst them. He breathed it in deep; who knew when he would have it near him again?

The walk back to the safehouse was a brisk, cold one, and the moment the front door was locked behind him, his arms were full of Hanzo. Dry lips were on his and without a thought, he opened his mouth to draw him in. Jesse closed his eyes and lavished the tastes he hungered for, ones only his mate could give him.

(The mate he stole, the mate who trusted him, the mate living a lie.

It was all on him.)

Jesse whined as Hanzo pulled back, a hand in his hair holding him back from chasing for more. He growled and was giving a nip to his bottom lip. Jesse opened his eyes to glare. Hanzo smirked back at him.

“Akemashite omedetou, Jesse.” Hanzo purred, nuzzling into his beard and jaw. Jesse moaned in response and tilted his throat back, inviting him closer. Hanzo pressed a kiss to it and chuckled. “It’s the start of a new year. I have a feeling it will be a good one.”

Starting off a brand new year with a guilty conscious and a hard truth following him like a shadow.

He couldn’t share the sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been in the planning for over a year and I'm so glad it's finally out for y'all to enjoy. Let me know what you thought of it!
> 
> Now for the poll: How would everyone feel about me raising the rating for this fic up to M? This would not effect the plot in any way, it's merely to give me some comfort when I post chapters hinting at sexual activity as I always worry I'm overstepping the rating boundaries. Plus you would get more detailed scenes of such nature in later chapters ;P
> 
> Please let me know; your feelings on the matter mean a lot to me and I won't change the rating now if my readers don't agree with it.
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on the McHanzo Sanctuary discord server!


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